You'll Get Back
by the-real-mo
Summary: Ralph, Jack, and Company weren't rescued. This picks up from where Ralph is being hunted. Live or die? Give up or stay strong? Eventually there will be slash.
1. Chapter One

A/N: Alright, I've been lurking on FFN for years, but this is the first fic that I've actually submitted. Yay for first-timers, eh? Um, yeah. This is a LotF fic - pretend that the boys were never rescued. This is based off the absolutely creepy, awesome book, not the crummy movie that came out in the nineties that I have yet to see. Uh, there will be eventual slash, but I'm not telling who it will be between just yet...

Disclaimer: I don't own the boys. They belong to a certain very lucky William Golding.

Enjoy...

Ralph was dashing wildly across the hot sand, running for his life and his dignity and everything that he had ever stood for. The screams and howls of the savages behind him grew louder and louder as they gained ground on him, and Ralph knew that his battered, abused, and bloody body would give in at any moment. It was catching up to him now; it was closing in; it wouldn't leave him alone and now it was all coming back to haunt him. _You'll get back. _Ralph's bare feet thudded dully across the beach, the grains of sand abrading the fresh cuts that covered the soles. _Like a crowd of kids. _He could feel the hot blood flowing freely from the torn flesh on his chest; it still felt as if there was a wooden spear stuck somewhere in his ribs. _We're going to have fun, alright? _Ralph didn't realize that his step had faltered until the sand came rushing toward him. The boy hadn't any time to bring his bruised, tired arms out to break his fall, and soon, he was face-down in the dry, gritty soil.

Groaning, he rolled onto his back, already feeling the bruises that were beginning to spring up. Ralph refused to open his eyes. He had known long ago that he was defeated, and, as footsteps drew nearer, his fears of failure were only reinforced. _I tell you, there isn't a beast! _A husky voice that had lost much of its accent tore through the thick silence.

"You are defeated."

They were the first intelligible words that Ralph had heard from the tribe in a long time. With all their screaming and shouting and hooting, he had begun to wonder if they remembered how to speak correct English at all. When he offered no reply, Ralph felt the tip of a spear jab lightly at his chest.

The voice he recognized as the chief's, though only through distant, ancient memories, spoke again. "What d'you say to that?" He shifted his weight somewhat, leaning on the spear and increasing the pressure against Ralph's chest. "You know you have something to say."

When Ralph finally forced his eyes open, he was assaulted with the bright afternoon sunlight glaring down upon him. A figure that towered above him moved forward, blocking out the burning rays. He couldn't tell who it was, at first. Too many layers of paint and grime covered his face and body, but eventually, after what seemed like forever, Ralph identified the savage as being Jack, the Chief, the monster who had killed Simon and Piggy and would finally bring Ralph himself to his doom. At first, all he could do was emit a deep, raspy chuckle in his throat. Everything was so cruel, so ironic, so terribly stupid and funny all at once. _You'll get back. Like a crowd of kids. We're going to have fun, alright? I tell you, there isn't a beast!_

His mouth dry and scratchy, Ralph spoke at last. "And what do you want me to tell you?"

The savage once known as Jack sneered. The paint and clay was flecking off his face, but he didn't seem to notice, and even if he did, he certainly didn't care. At last, he had his quarry, his prey, the pig that he had wanted to kill for months on end. The white and red and black markings on his face had little value. "You know what I want you to say," he said, nudging Ralph's bruised ribs with his foot. "Tell me that you were wrong and that I was right. Tell me that I'm chief and that you never should have been. It's that simple, you know."

Ralph squinted up at the boy standing above him. "Why does it matter?!" he spat. "You've won the game, you're chief. I was wrong. Now kill me already. I know it's what you've always wanted, isn't it?"

The painted youth considered this for a moment, running a hand through his long, tangled hair. "You're right," he said with a toothy grin. "You're right, Ralph. No, wait, you're wrong, you said so yourself!" He allowed himself to laugh at his own poor attempt at humor.

"You have a spear pointed at my chest," Ralph grunted. "You've got me pinned to the ground. You've been hunting me all day and you've got me." He swallowed the blood that had accumulated in his otherwise dry mouth. It was bitter and tinny, but the taste of it made him strangely hungry. "Won't you just kill me already? Where's Roger with his stick sharpened at both ends?"

There was some kind of muttering from behind the chief, and Ralph took it to be the sadistic hangman of the tribe.

"I want you to beg," said Jack.

"For what?"

"For your life," he responded, pushing his spear into Ralph a little more. A bruise was forming under its wooden tip, and the fair-haired boy grimaced slightly; it wasn't however, the most painful thing he had felt that day. "I want you to beg to be spared. I want you to beg for us to let you into our tribe. I want..." He paused, and the savage that was once Roger came forward, into Ralph's blurry field of vision. The boy was gripping another boy, a younger one, on his bare shoulder, his fingers nearly digging into the flesh.

Ralph screwed up his face, trying to make out who the younger boy was. He decided that it was one of the twins, but whether it was Sam or Eric, he didn't have a clue. The twin cried out as he was shoved forward, but silenced himself as soon as Roger's spear was pointed at his back.

The chief continued. "I want you to beg for _Sam's _life."

"That's not fair!" Ralph shouted weakly. "What did he do to you?"

"Nothing," Jack responded truthfully. "But he'll have to pay for everything that you've done wrong."

Sam whimpered quietly as Roger jabbed his lower back with the sharpened stick.

Jack's logic made no sense to Ralph, and for a moment, all he could do was close his eyes and wish he was somewhere else. He wished he was back in England, back at his estate with his father, where all the wild ponies roamed freely. He wished he was sitting in front of the fireplace, the warm, contained glow of the flames illuminating the book about trains that he wanted to badly to read again. Ralph wished he was back at school, even, listening to the strict, deep voice of the headmaster. Anything but this, anything but being at Jack's mercy with Sam's life in his hands.

"Beg," muttered Jack, stirring Ralph out of his longing daydreams. "Beg for his life and yours."

"Kill me," he said, "but leave Sam alone! Do what you wish to me. Torture me, beat me, maim me, drown me, starve me! But leave Sam out of this!"

Jack scratched his chin in thought, and when he took his hand away, more of the face paint had disappeared. "Torture, huh?" He shot a sidelong glance to the savage – Roger – that was standing beside him. When the hangman gave him a rare grin and a nod, Ralph could feel a shiver snake down his spine. "Alright then," Jack said at last, allowing himself to smirk, "Alright. You said it, you've sealed your fate. Roger, let Sam be."

Ralph heard a sigh of relief come from the twin as Roger took his spear away, followed by a whispered "Thank you, Ralph."

"Get up on your feet." He felt Jack remove the point of the spear from his chest, but Ralph had no will to get up. His limbs felt like gelatin, and the soles of his feet were cut and welted beyond anything he had experienced before. Did he really have to get up? Wouldn't the savages find more pleasure in watching him shrivel and die, suffer like a wounded pig, than just killing him outright? Who was he fooling? Of course they would, and they'd torture him in front of everybody. With a grunt, Ralph lifted himself to his full height, but not for long – almost immediately, he doubled over and began to retch. The contents of his mostly-empty stomach were soon lying in a steaming pile on the clean, white sand of the beach.

Jack watched the scene with a smug grin, but said nothing.

When he began to heave again, Ralph could only hope that his entrails would come flying out from his mouth – maybe then he would die and not have to be humiliated in front of Jack and Roger and Samneric and Maurice. To his disappointment, the only thing that came up was blood, and lots of it. Drops of red stained the perfect white below him. Ralph let out a strangled cry and spat one last time, before returning to his full height and hesitantly stepping toward Jack.

"Hurry the pace up," he said with a scowl that was half-masked by his face paint. "We've got a long way to go."

Ralph looked up and was horrified to discover that a half-burned forest stood between him and the place where the tribe had made its encampment. His mouth tasted bitter and disgusting, and at the moment he wanted nothing more than a drink of fresh water to rinse it all out. "I need something to drink," he croaked. "My mouth tastes horrible."

"Sucks to your mouth," the chief grumbled, raising his spear slightly and pushing Ralph along. "Get moving. You knew from the start that I wasn't going to be nice to you, so why bother asking? Roger and I are going to have our fun with you this evening, and then we'll see what will happen next."

Ralph spat again and quickened his pained pace.

A/N: End of chapter one! What do you think so far? Feedback is greatly appreciated...


	2. Chapter Two

A/N: Thank you to all my lovely reviewers! So, as you requested, here is chapter number two! I hope you enjoy it... Maybe you can find a hint of plot development here, but for you slash-seekers, there won't be anything for a while (heavens, the boys are only thirteen or so!) – be patient.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of them, and I don't plan on owning them (but I do have a copy of the book).

"Get on the ground," Jack muttered as soon as he and Ralph entered the small lean-to that was designated as the chief's shelter. Ralph was surprised to find that the tribe had, in fact, gotten around to constructing primitive huts of their own, although they were nothing compared to the one that the boys had constructed when they had all worked together. _That was before everything went to hell_, he thought to himself bitterly. "Get on the ground and shut up."

Ralph rolled his dark eyes and crashed to the damp earth. A new pain fanned up through his spine, but he ignored it and stared blankly ahead. His vision was adjusting to the new, diffused shade, and he found it strangely welcoming. It was earthy, wild, yet, at the same time, it was _familiar_.

The other boy stood in front of him, his arms crossed over his bare chest, encrusted with paint and grime and blood. Jack frowned, slightly, and cleared his throat. "I'm going to make you do what ever I want you to."

The fair haired boy shook his head, dirty blonde tangles bouncing back and forth. His breath came out in a tired sigh and he said, "I'm not doing anything until I get some water and something to clean up _this_," he pointed at the torn flesh on his chest. There was still a trickle of blood running from the wound, and Ralph was sure that it was hurting. He had, however, pushed the sense of pain and feeling into the very back of his mind, and so he felt nothing but numbness.

"No," Jack replied, his voice smooth and even, as if the mess of a boy in front of him was someone he had never seen or cared about before.

"If I'm your _pet_," Ralph spat the word, "then you've gotta feed me. You've gotta let me get some water because you know that it would kill you to see me die without your help. You have to have a hand in it, don't you, Jack?"

The other boy's face crumpled into a look of distaste, and he lashed out a bare foot at Ralph. "And I will have a hand in it." Jack thought for another moment, and his normally expressionless face lit up with an idea. "You can't leave the shelter without my permission. You need water? Samneric can get it for you."

"Then can't you just _send _one of them here?!" Ralph hissed, not caring if he sounded rude to the so-called ruler of the tribe.

Jack frowned again and bit his lower lip, then exited the lean-to without saying another word. Ralph took this moment to heave something between a sigh of relief and a hiccup of terror. He didn't know what was in store for him in the near future, and at the same time, he didn't really want to find out. He hoped that the tribe's infamous hangman wouldn't have a hand in any pain inflicted upon him. As much as Ralph hated to admit it, Roger frightened him. He had known from the very start that the quiet, shy boy would mean trouble for everyone else on the Island. Ralph himself had seen Roger evolve from an antisocial youth to a sadistic, mean-spirited savage who took pleasure in seeing the other boys scream and bleed.

There was a rustle of dry leaves on the sand outside the shelter, and a moment later, one of the twins stooped down and crawled into the shade. "Hullo."

"Hullo." Ralph hesitated. He wasn't sure who it was – Samneric were nearly identical, and the flaking paint on the boy's face made matters even worse. Ralph took a shot at guessing the boy's identity and said, "I really meant it, Sam, when I said I'd rather die instead of see you get killed."

The boy glanced up from the hollowed-out coconut shell that he was carrying – full of water, Ralph hoped – and smiled slightly. "I know. If anyone's going to say something that they actually mean, it would be you."

"Where's Eric?"

Sam shrugged. "I – I don't know. He might be walking about with some of the littluns. I haven't really seen him around for a while."

"Oh."

"Anyway, I uh, brought you some water." The younger boy handed the makeshift bowl to Ralph, who took it very thankfully. "So, you're Jack's... captive now?"

He nodded. "Looks like it. But..."

Sam gave the hurt, bleeding boy a confused glance.

"There's something kind of queer, you know – as if he still doesn't have full control over me." Ralph brought the hull of the coconut to his lips and took a long sip. The water was cold and fresh and clear, but even if it was warm and dirty, he wouldn't have cared. He was half-starved, and certainly dehydrated, and was feeling slightly light-headed, most likely from the considerable blood loss that he had suffered in the past day. Ralph paused in his drinking and muttered, "I think that he still sees me as the old chief. He still remembers what it was like when matters weren't as screwed up."

Sam scratched the peeling, black paint that was plastered on the side of his face. "Could be," he replied.

"It's so stupid."

"Huh?"

"This," Ralph grumbled, taking another sip of water. "The fact that we're still here. A bunch of kids killing each other and running around in paint."

"I guess."

"I really wanna go home."

Sam nodded enthusiastically. "Me, too."

"Look, when you see Eric around, tell him to come see me. Tell him I'm alright, okay?"

"Jack would probably kill him for going into his shelter."

Ralph gnawed at his lower lip, and didn't flinch when the bitter taste of blood billowed into his mouth. "Alright, well, at least tell me when you see him again. Think you can convince Jack that I need something to eat?"

"You look like you haven't eaten in days."

The older boy smirked. "You're right."

"I'll do what I can," Sam said, then turned around, ducking to exit the lean-to.

"Oh, Sam?" Ralph called.

"Yeah?" came the small voice from outside.

"Thanks. Keep clear of Roger."

"I will," he replied. And then, he was gone.

A/N: Hope you liked that installment – I know it was kind of short but I have a hockey game to go to tonight and I wanted to get as much of the story online as possible for all you wonderful people to read! Feedback is greatly appreciated because it makes me want to write even more! Have a great weekend, folks!

-mo


	3. Chapter Three

A/N: Another chapter, folks! Enjoy it tons!

The tribe was having a feast and Ralph knew it. The dying rays of the sun were filtering in through the palm leaves above his head, and still confined in his prison, he could smell the sweet aroma of cooked meat wafting through the air. Ralph's stomach growled viciously, his inner beast stirred awake by the scent of burning flesh. He had been asleep for several hours, nursing his wounds in silence. The boy had tried to block from his mind his lust for some type of food, and had been successful for the most part; now, however, the fragrance of what was most likely pork was pulling at his senses, luring him from the chief's shelter.

Ralph wrung his hands, trying very hard to resist the tempting scent. Perhaps this was Jack's way of torturing him, he realized with a frown. Forcing him to breathe in the flavorful aroma of the roasting pig, keeping him jailed in a small, dark lean-to that was most likely guarded by boys carrying spears.

The fair-haired boy shifted his position on the sand slightly. There were pebbles digging into his bare calves, and he allowed himself to whimper. He was so dreadfully hungry. "That's it," Ralph grumbled to himself, and climbed to his hands and knees. Slowly, he crawled out of the lean-to and into the cool darkness of the evening. The air was thick with the fragrance of not only the cooking meat, but that of tropical night-blooming flowers, as well. Ralph breathed in the dampness with a certain gusto; he was happy to still be alive.

The boy soon found that there was no one guarding the shelter in which he had been resting, and so he crept further into the unknown darkness. There was a faraway light on the beach, the orangey glow of a great bonfire. Ralph could almost hear the crackling of the flames, but any such noise was drowned out by the hooting and shouting of the savage boys. From the seaside drifted a familiar chant that was forever emblazoned in Ralph's mind and soul.

_Kill the pig! Cut its throat! Spill the blood!_

Shivers ran down his spine, but Ralph hobbled along on all fours, approaching the beach with caution. A ring of dancing figures was silhouetted by the leaping fire, shouting unintelligible words and songs. _You'd think they'd grow tired of it_, Ralph thought bitterly. But he knew he was wrong, for this primal lifestyle had been embedded into the brains of the other boys on the island, and they'd never give it up until it was pried from their lives with force.

Ralph considered that he was injured rather severely, and that he himself was not armed in any way. He had underestimated the pain that a sharpened stick could inflict when he had been struck earlier that day, and now he grew very wary as he drew closer to the bonfire. He kept himself silent, careful not to disturb any dry leaves that were in his path. _Not like they could hear me anyway._

"What are you doing here?!"

Ralph nearly jumped, his heart leaping into his throat. Carefully, he turned around into the darkness to face whoever the voice belonged to. "Oh." He breathed a sigh of relief when the distant glow from the fire revealed the face of one of the twins. "Sam?"

The younger boy nodded slowly. "You're supposed to be in the hut."

"I know," Ralph whispered, his voice almost inaudible, "but I'm starving in there!"

Obviously nervous, Sam chewed on his fingernail, pondering what to do next. "I know, I'm sorry – it's just that... that Jack... wouldn't let me get you anything... to eat." He added as quietly as he could, "He'll kill you if he sees you down there."

But Ralph knew the chief too well to believe this. "No, he won't."

"But... Remember what happened _last _time... during the fire..." Sam talked haltingly, as if he expected his twin brother to join in and finish his sentences at any moment. But Eric didn't appear and the boy sighed sadly. "I mean... I don't want it... to happen again."

Ralph wedged his tongue in the corner of his mouth, thinking the situation over. His hunger, however, was dampening his judgment and he couldn't quite process his thoughts as clearly as he would have liked. "Simon..." he grumbled, understanding who the single twin was referring to. "It won't happen that way, I promise." He placed a reassuring hand on Sam's shoulder and attempted a smile.

"I'll go with you, then."

The older boy frowned, then shrugged. "I don't know... Jack wouldn't like that too much."

"That doesn't matter."

"Stay quiet, then," Ralph murmured, and returned to his hands and knees. The boys crawled across the ground until they were about twenty yards from the fire. The tribe had settled down and presently, they were feasting on the day's kill. Ralph was horrified to find that not only were the other boys eating at least one slaughtered pig, they also had a grand lineup of fruits and vegetables and other cooked animals. _A victory banquet_, he thought with a frown creasing his forehead.

"It smells good," Sam grumbled, squinting into the molten blaze of the fire.

"Why aren't you down there eating with them?" Ralph hissed.

"I was heading down that way before I saw you."

"You were looking for Eric."

Sam was silent, and he nodded.

"No luck?"

The younger boy shook his head, then proceeded to creep closer to the fire. "I'll go first," he said, "and bring some food back for you."

"It seems kind of risky," Ralph wanted to say, but his growling stomach betrayed him, and instead he said, "Alright." There was a rustling of vegetation and for the second time that afternoon, Sam disappeared. Ralph took a seat on the damp ground and sighed. He wasn't so worried about his own life, so much as that of the missing Eric. There wasn't much he himself could do about it except for worry, and that never did any good.

The sun had finished setting and the sky was a dark navy-blue, masked almost entirely by threatening clouds. It would storm, soon, and rain would fall. It would extinguish the fire and the warmth that the boys worshipped nightly, and with the rain, an extreme sense of misery would set in. Ralph sighed rather grumpily, and squinted into the darkness. The water was blending into the sky; the trees into the beach. The figures of the boys seated around the bonfire were melding into one object, and the flames seemed to be dancing, taking on a human form, growing blurry then jumping back into focus.

Ralph blinked his eyes several times, and he knew that his hunger was toying with his mind, making him see things that weren't really there. He had to get something to eat, and soon – the feeling of weakness was setting in and it was a terrible pain in his stomach, indeed. Ralph writhed a little, trying not to think about the food the boys on the beach were engorging.

There was a rustling in the bushes behind him, and the boy turned around. "Thank you so much..." Ralph began, but a sudden icy fear spread over him and he could no longer feel his hands or feet.

A boy that Ralph had once known was staring back at him with dark eyes, his dirty face covered in clay and paint, and his hair long and tangled. Roger frowned. "You're supposed to be in the chief's shelter," he said disapprovingly, crossing his arms over his bare chest at the same time.

Rising to his feet very slowly, Ralph raised his arms in a protective stance and backed away. "I'm only here to get something to eat," he muttered carefully. "I haven't had any food for _days_." Well, that was overstating it, he knew, but his stomach sure felt like it.

"That's a rotten excuse!" Roger declared, and let a fist fly.

Ralph hadn't seen the blow coming, and when the uppercut was only inches from his face, it was already too late. He crumpled to the ground, holding his jaw. "S-Stop!" Ralph sputtered, scooting away from the other boy. "Jack'll kill you if he sees you beating up on his _pet_!"

The hangman sneered. "I doubt that."

"Where's Eric?"

Roger raised a dark eyebrow, then chuckled. "You think I have something to do with it?"

Ralph nodded; to him, it was obvious. Why else would Eric go missing? The deaths and disappearances of boys on the island were always credited to Roger, and for good reason. He had showed his brutality when he had killed Piggy and when he had joined in on the mob that resulted in Simon's death. "Where is he?!" Ralph hissed, trying not to let any extraneous emotions show.

"You don't need to know that," the other boy replied darkly. "I'm taking you back to your shelter and I am going to make sure you _stay _there."

"How are you planning on accomplishing _that_?" Ralph asked, sounding more surly than he had intended. It was a mixture of fatigue and hunger and hopelessness, and ultimately, it made him sound much angrier than he was frustrated.

Roger grinned this time, and it was a sight that made Ralph shudder. "I have my ways," he responded, more vaguely than darkly, and added, "Get moving. I'm right behind you."

As the boys started to tramp through the cool darkness of the night, thunder rumbled faraway over the ocean. And then, it began to rain.

A/N: Hope ya liked it. From here on out, the plot thickens, not to mention that the pace picks up, as well. Like a great reader, could you please leave me some feedback? It does wonders for self-esteem and the soul. Thanks!

-mo


	4. Chapter Four

A/N: Here's your fourth chapter! It's nice and long, and there's a lot of talk, but there's a lot of plot development, too. Even though there has been a lack of reviews lately, I'll keep on writing because, unlike some people, I don't rely on feedback to keep me going! Enjoy this chapter, and soon there will be more to come!

The rainstorm was, in a way, relaxing to Ralph. The pitter-patter of the drops hitting the fronds of the palm trees above was steady and familiar, much like the sound of rain hitting a roof back home in England. There was a welcome smell to the air, that of freshness and renewal. Ralph breathed it in deeply, but flinched when his stomach growled voraciously again. "Um, Roger?"

"Yeah?"

"Any chance I could, uh, get something to eat?" Ralph asked, still trudging through the jungle, moist, decaying plant matter squishing under his bare feet.

"I'll have to ask the chief," came the short reply.

The older boy sighed, and clutched his belly miserably. "Haven't you ever considered that following just one leader is stupid?" Ralph stopped in his tracks and turned around to face Roger. "You know, don't you think that doing whatever Jack says is just dumb?"

The other boy scratched his chin in thought, but answered Ralph with only silence.

"Oh, come _on_, Roger!" Ralph pushed the mop of hair out of his eyes as he turned away and began to walk toward the tribe's shelters. "You know you want to do whatever the hell you want! You'd turn against Jack if you had the chance, wouldn't you? You're just dying to have that power!" As soon as he finished the sentence, Ralph realized that he never should have turned his back on the other boy. Something strong and hard that he recognized as a stick connected swiftly with his spine, and he tumbled forward into the damp earth.

"Shut up," Roger grumbled. The rain began to pour harder, and he lifted his plastered bangs from his eyes. "Get up and keep walking."

"Jolly good the huts'll do," Ralph hissed as he picked himself up, his arms and legs and chest smeared with dirt and mud. "We're all going to get pneumonia and die." He wiped his grimy hands against what was left of his tattered shorts and frowned. Ralph felt as if he was talking to a wall, but he continued anyway. Speaking to Roger was better than speaking to nobody at all, even if the other boy qualified as a nobody. "It hasn't rained since we _got _here. Are the shelters even that waterproof? Does the almighty chief have a backup plan?"

"I told you to shut up!"

"Are you going to hit me with a stick again? Just to secretly spite Jack and beat me up as much as you want?" Ralph stopped again, his toes sinking into the wet ground, but he didn't turn to face Roger.

"Start walking to your left."

"Why?"

"Because we're going to Castle Rock."

With an air of mock-politeness, Ralph muttered, "Care if I ask _why_?"

"There's a cave there that we use."

Roger was straight-to-the-point, like usual, and Ralph decided to comply. He pivoted on his bare heel, and began to slog through the soaked jungle with the other boy right on his tail. "Too bad the rain wrecked your little party on the beach, huh?" Ralph asked sarcastically.

"Shut up."

...

After a long while of stumbling through the tangles of the almost pitch-black jungle, Ralph and Roger finally reached the outcrop of pink granite that the boys had dubbed Castle Rock. The rest of the tribe had already made it to the gathering area, and had quickly lit fires in several sheltered areas. The warm, orange glow of the small flames made Ralph forget about all the horrendous things that had happened there. He unconsciously pushed the deaths of Piggy and Simon further back into his mind. At some point in the trek, Ralph had found himself walking behind the hangman, and presently, the former chief was carefully avoiding any bits of sharp rock pointing up through the soil.

The two of them came across a broad, flat rock that jutted horizontally out from the island. Beneath it was a cavity, and it looked much like some sort of cave, but Ralph didn't dare venture how far back the passage reached. The interior was lit with a fiery radiance, but before he could ask Roger about it, the dark-haired boy spoke first.

"The chief is in there. Go in." With that said, Roger shoved Ralph forward.

He landed easily on his hands and knees, ignoring the needles of pain that shot through his tired body, and crawled forward, under the overhang and into the glow of the fire. Jack was there, seated a few feet from the flames, his arms wrapped around his thin waist. He was shivering, slightly, his red hair wet and stuck to his forehead, the last of his face paint dripping away. Jack didn't look up when Ralph was seated across from him, and instead muttered haltingly, "You left... the shelter."

"I was hungry," he replied, holding his hands up to the blaze. "It's been a day since I've last ate."

"Then eat your damn food!" Jack picked up a chunk of meat that was resting beside him and flung it at the older boy. Ralph caught it, just barely, and began to devour the pork as if it was the best thing he had ever tasted. In reality, it was cold and undercooked, and there was probably more fat than meat to be found, but it didn't matter. Ralph's stomach accepted the meat quite willingly. Jack continued, "Don't sneak out like that again! You're... You're lucky that Roger was easy on you."

Ralph glanced over his shoulder, and was relieved to find that the other boy had gone. Taking another bite of the semi-raw pork, he grumbled, "Roger's not happy with you, y'know."

Jack was still convulsing with shivers, like a dying animal or an old, rickety house shuddering in a windstorm. He was naked, save for a scrap of what were once his pants still fastened at his hips. The chief was truly miserable, and extremely wet and cold, and Ralph knew that he was finally breaking, he was finally showing his weaknesses and his true self. "Did he say this?"

"No," Ralph replied, finishing off the last of the meat. "But can't you tell he wants to overthrow you?"

"Why would you be concerned with it?" Jack asked, trying desperately to cease his trembling.

"I'm not, really." Ralph pulled his legs out from under himself and crossed them instead. Licking the last of the grease from the meat off his fingers, he added, "Just thought you might like to know."

The chief looked up from the dancing flames to the low, rocky roof overhead. The light from the fire was glinting off the pink crystals of granite, spreading the glow further through the cave-like tunnel. "If he gets out of hand, I will have him taken care of," Jack grumbled sullenly.

The intensity of the storm outside was picking up. Like angry beasts, the waves smashed into the rocks below, pounding them repeatedly even though they would never give in. Ralph grimaced and was thankful he was under some sort of primitive shelter, no matter how stark and rocky it was. The mad howling of the wind reminded him that if he was still longing for food in one of the tribe's feeble lean-tos, he would be much more miserable than he was at the moment.

Silence stretched between the two boys until Ralph finally asked, "Where's Eric?"

His eyes focused back on the small fire, Jack shrugged his tanned, bony shoulders. "How am I supposed to know?"

"Sam hasn't seen him for at least a day."

This small but important fact made Jack listen, and he finally snapped his head up so that he and Ralph established eye contact for the first time that night. Dark, doe-like brown abraded with icy gray-blue, and there was another moment of awkward silence. Rain continued to strike the rocks outside the overhang, but neither boy heard it; the intensity of one another's haunted stares filled the air with enough electricity to drown out the din of the storm.

Jack gave in first, when he finally blinked. "At least a day?" Ralph thought that he could almost sense a twinge of worry in the other boy's normally collected voice.

"At least. Sam's really worried."

"Roger?"

Ralph shrugged, and picked absently at the scabbing wound on his chest. "I asked him and he told me to shut up about it. He sort of sounded like he knew about it, but he wouldn't say anything else."

"Sounds like he has something to do with Eric," Jack grumbled, experimentally waving his hand over the top of the fire. "It's too nasty outside to do anything about it right now, but we can go look for him tomorrow."

"Who, Eric?"

"Yeah."

Ralph sighed, and an image of the missing twin appeared in his head. Eric was cold and miserable, shivering in the rain, his blonde hair soaked and plastered to his forehead. He was lost and wandering in the dark, with nothing to guide him through a jungle of wild animals, bad memories, and evil. Or, worse yet, he was being held captive by that savage Roger, being beaten for the older boy's pleasure. Ralph could imagine the red rivulets of blood traveling down Eric's bare back, and he shuddered at the gruesome thought. "I hope he'll be alright."

Jack bit his lower lip. "You think your dad is still gonna find us?"

Swallowing his anger and hate for Jack, and hiding his sadness for the obvious death of his father, Ralph shook his head. "Naw. No one's gonna find us."

"Ever?"

"Why am I even talking to you?" It was an abrupt question, the kind that could always kill a conversation with one stab. Ralph wasn't expecting a reply, and he didn't wait for one, either. Instead, he stretched his arms over his head, and winced when the sudden movement caused the injured flesh on his chest to bleed again.

"You're staying here for the night," Jack said, carefully following every one of Ralph's movements.

"I figured that."

"I'm being too nice to you, Ralph." Jack scooted away from the fire and brought his bare feet closer to the flames, in an attempt to warm them. "Tomorrow, if all goes well, things won't be as good for you."

"And who's to decide that?" Ralph asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

The chief scowled, but refrained from retaliating. Instead, he just grumbled, "You'll see soon enough."

These threats meant nothing to Ralph, and he sighed. He was dreadfully tired, still, thanks to two days of running from the savages. His legs were bruised and cut from numerous tumbles in the jungle and run-ins with the spiny creepers, and they were tired, as well. His whole _body _was tired, Ralph realized. His lungs were worn out, his muscles were sore, and his spine felt like it had been crumpled much like an accordion. "Sucks to that," Ralph whispered, and he curled up against the wall, his bleeding, bare back facing the small circle of warmth.

"I promise we'll look for Eric tomorrow morning."

Ralph didn't hear Jack's assurance. He was too busy brooding over the events of the past, what was it, three days? Time had both flown and crawled by, and Ralph could no longer distinguish between one day and another. It had all melded together like the wax on a burning candle, dripping away and mixing into one big pool. How many days had it been since Piggy's death? Two? Three? And what about Simon? No more than five days could have passed by since _that_.

But Ralph wasn't sure and because of this, he was disturbed. Disturbed because he was part of the mob that brutally ended Simon's life. Disturbed because he couldn't remember when it happened. Most of all, he was disturbed because he knew that somewhere out in that violent storm, Simon's body was floating among the white-capped waves, being tossed about like a discarded doll. The boy would never get a proper burial, nor would his corpse ever return to his family, that is, if they were still alive.

As the waves continued to crash into the rocky shore, all Ralph could see in his mind was the rotting body of the small, dark-haired boy, the blood leaching into the seawater. If, by chance, anyone were to come across it, they would be horrified to see blunt wounds and deep puncture wounds and scratches and bruises... Ralph shuddered, so terribly ashamed that he had taken part in ending the life of the one boy on the island that knew what was going on.

The fire behind Ralph crackled and popped, and soon, it ran out of fuel so that all was left was a pile of gray, glowing embers. Darkness flooded the little cave like death, and with the darkness came heavy, deep sleep marred by guilt, loathing, and anger.

A/N: And so ends chapter four... Feedback is appreciated, but I don't live off of it! Still, be a nice person! I was gonna be Ralph for Halloween, but seeing as he doesn't wear a shirt and I'm a girl, well... That wouldn't work, would it? Cheers!

-mo


	5. Chapter Five

A/N: Thanks so much for all the feedback I've been getting! It's great to see that stuff in my inbox, let me assure you of that. Here we have another chapter – chapter five, if I'm correct! Enjoy this; now our plot is getting somewhere!

-mo

"Get up." Ralph felt something nudge him, and he groaned. He wasn't ready to open his eyes, not yet, not when his sore legs and his arms felt like immovable lead. "Get up, dammit!" Ralph was nudged harder, then realized that he was being _kicked _and that the commanding voice belonged to Jack. "_Get up_!"

"I am, I am..." Ralph rolled over so that he was no longer facing the rocky wall of the cave, and he slowly opened his eyes. He was staring at the feet of the chief, and even though he was standing only inches away, he was out of focus. Ralph blinked his eyes several times, before leaning forward. "What time..." But he caught himself before finishing the question. It was a stupid thing to ask; of course no one on the island knew what time it was.

"You wanted to go find Eric?" Jack asked coldly, "We're going to look for him _now._" He started to leave the cave, and didn't look back or pause for Ralph to get up and join him.

"Wait up," the older boy grumbled, and he gathered himself to his feet, still stooping low because the limited space of the rocky cavity. When he got outside, it was as if he was on a totally different island. Along the beach, many feet below, were piles of seaweed and shells and other debris that had washed ashore during the night. The torrential winds had also caused the fronds of many of the palms to break off and blow away; the unburned portion of the jungle had a battered look.

"Good thing you did run out of the huts," Jack murmured, looking behind himself. "You could have been dead by now."

"It's not like you care about me _any_way," Ralph responded, following the other boy at a cautious distance. "If I had gotten blown away it could have mattered less."

This time, Jack stopped and turned around. "It _does _matter," he said simply, but didn't explain himself any further.

Ralph rolled his eyes and a slight grin spread across his lips. "Everything you've done to me proves otherwise, _Jack_." He spat the other boy's name, and added, "It's a jolly nice thing to say to the same person you were trying to kill a day ago."

"Blame it on Roger," the chief snapped back. "He's behind all the killings and violence and you know it!"

"Said the boy who calls himself the chief."

"Shut up!"

"Will do, Chief."

Jack swept a hand through the tangled mass of red hair on his head. "Shut up. We're looking for Eric, alright?"

Ralph decided that it was probably unwise to continue the mocking of the other boy and dropped the issue. "Alright."

"We'll start over near where the huts were," Jack mumbled, then turned on his heel, headed toward the chaotic jungle ahead.

Sighing, Ralph followed the other boy silently, careful to keep himself from being caught up in the spiny creepers that blanketed the ground of the wilderness. Above the leafy canopy, the sun filtered down, and a beautiful blue sky stretched on for miles. It was a stark contrast to what the weather had been the evening before, but Ralph knew that in the tropics, such things could be more unpredictable than the moods of Jack.

"Hurry it up!" the chief shouted, several yards ahead of Ralph. His voice rebounded through the forest, followed by the squawking and screeching of disturbed birds and other animals. Jack waved his arms wildly at the swarm of insects that had formed around his head, and muttered a few muffled curse words.

Ralph picked up his pace, until he was walking at Jack's side. Not that he was his _equal _or anything. No, he was just a pet, a slave, who had not yet been tortured like he undoubtedly would be in the future. At the thought of such a fate, Ralph shuddered, before asking, "What do you plan on doing to me?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm your _possession_, Jack." He swatted a mosquito that had landed on his arm. "You promised from the very beginning that you'd treat me horribly? Why hasn't that happened yet?" Ralph wondered why he was even _asking_; it wasn't as if he wanted to be tortured, and yet, there he was, asking why it hadn't happened.

Jack glanced over to the older boy and sneered. "Do you want it that badly, then?"

"No, it's just that..."

"Then shut up."

Ralph didn't challenge this command, and, like a well-behaved slave, didn't say anything else. The two of them came upon the edge of the jungle, to where the lean-tos had been built. The leafy huts were no where to be found, however, except for a few branches that were still stuck into the sand. Ralph groaned.

"Well, we can assume he's not here," Jack said, a hint of disappointment fringing his voice. "Damn."

Ralph had left the other boy, and was making a slow trek across the beach. He avoided the carcasses of fish and crustaceans that littered the shoreline, pausing and stooping down every so often to lift a shell from the sand. He stopped, suddenly, when he came upon an unusually big, shiny object that was strangled in seaweed and grit. Pushing the offending stuff away, he saw what it was, in its full, beautiful form. It was a conch, not unlike the one that Piggy had discovered months before. "That's nice," Ralph said to himself, and lifted the shell from the sand. Inside was the mollusk's decaying body, and it smelled quite bad.

_It all goes wrong, doesn't it? _Ralph thought to himself. _Something so beautiful, something so perfect, only to be spoiled by evil and death. Simon, Piggy, this island, hell, this damn conch! Everything's bad in the end._ He shook the shell, and the slimy mass of the carcass slid out and fell to the sand. It was a sickening sight, and that, combined with the stench made Ralph want to throw up. Instead, he crouched down at the water, and let the conch bathe itself in the briny waves.

"What are you up to?"

Ralph almost jumped at the sound of Jack's voice. He didn't turn around, though, and instead held up the wet shell. "Recognize this, Jack?"

"I thought it broke."

"It _did_, when _you _ordered Roger to kill Piggy." Ralph let the conch soak a while longer, then lifted it from the surf for good. "Makes you feel bad, doesn't it?" Ralph asked bitterly as he faced Jack. "Makes you remember how everything started out so good, then went rotten."

"There's nothing either of us can do about it now," Jack said coldly, his arms crossed over his chest. "Maybe you should blow it and see if everyone comes running."

"Be quiet, Jack." Ralph examined the shell closely, running his fingers over its smooth, lustrous surface. The morning sun glinted off its glassy, organic curves, and the boy allowed himself to heave a sigh. "Everything is so damn horrible."

Jack rolled his eyes, and stepped closer to Ralph. "Can I say something?"

"You're the chief."

"I don't have the conch."

Ralph could have sworn he saw a sparkle of a smile in Jack's icy, blue eyes. He returned a knowing hint of a grin and handed the opalescent shell to Jack.

"Look, Ralph..." Jack sighed, digging his toes into the damp sand. "I know you think this must be so stupid, me telling you this, but I'm sorry about what happened."

The older boy snorted, and rolled his dark eyes. "Sorry for _what_, Jack? Sorry that you killed Piggy and Simon? Sorry that you turned against me? Sorry that you're a backstabber?"

The chief shrugged. "I'm sorry for all of it."

"I'll believe it when I see it," Ralph grumbled, and he turned away from Jack. "Come on, we're looking for Eric."

Dejected and hurt, Jack sighed and trotted ahead to Ralph. He still clutched the conch, though for what reason, he wasn't sure. "Should I try and blow on it?" he asked when the two of them came to a stop.

Ralph frowned and wiped off the sweat that was forming on his forehead. It was terribly humid after the storm, and with the sun out, the air was starting to feel like a steambath. "Look, you're the chief," he grumbled. "You should know what to do – unless you're _unfit for leadership_." Ralph drew out the latter half of the sentence venomously.

"Be quiet!" Jack shouted, and before he knew what he was doing, he had lashed his hand out at Ralph. The older boy held his face, a grimace forming on his lips. "Don't talk to me like that," Jack continued angrily. "I'm still your _chief_, Ralph. I still own you, whether you like it or not."

"Don't be stupid," the other boy grumbled. "You may be a chief, but you're not a _chief_." He squinted into the sun, his eyes following the winding shoreline, where the white sand met with the cool, blue water. _Where are you, Eric? _Ralph wondered with a quiet sigh.

"He could be anywhere," Jack said, and it made Ralph jump; it was as if the chief had read his mind. "For all we know, Samneric could be trading places just to play a cruel joke on us."

Ralph dropped to the sand; it was strangely cool, and for the longest time, he sat there, staring ahead at the beach.

"Ralph?"

_It's him, isn't it? What happened? How could –_

"Ralph!"

The fair-haired boy blinked. "He's down there." Ralph climbed to his feet and started off at a slow trot down the shoreline, but soon, his pace quickened, and he was running as fast as his battered legs could carry him.

"Ralph, what the bloody hell has gotten into you?!" Jack was sprinting, too, but was having trouble keeping up.

Sliding into the sand like a baserunner reaching home, Ralph was already fighting back tears. There, on the beach, was the small body of Eric, its arms and legs flailed out in an unnatural position. "No, no, Eric!" Ralph found himself crying uncontrollably, shaking the lifeless corpse of the young boy. "Who did it to you?! Who did it?!" There was no answer, no glimmer of hope, as the Eric's lifeless eyes stared into the heavens, dull and colorless.

"Ralph, Ralph! What's gotten into..." Jack didn't finish his sentence when he finally reached the spot where the other boy had collapsed to the sand. Ralph was kneeling above the body of one of the twins, and right away, Jack knew that it was Eric and that he was dead. "What happened?!"

The former chief shook his head, tears streaking his dirty face. "I don't know..." He was convulsing wildly, not able to tear his eyes from the corpse in front of him. "Oh, dammit, Jack, I don't know."

Jack knelt down in the sand, on the other side of Eric's body. He examined the neck and wrists and bare chest of the dead boy, then groaned. "He was beaten," he said, pointing at the purple bruises that encircled Eric's wrists and neck. "He was held down and beaten." Jack shuddered, not because of his close proximity to a dead body, but because the notion of such a young innocent boy getting hurt by another was so terrible, so barbarian, so outlandish –

And yet he had done it, once, twice, himself.

"Damn it, damn it..." Ralph stood, but couldn't avert his eyes from the dried trickle of blood that had ran from Eric's mouth. "Who the hell did it?!"

Jack narrowed his cold eyes, and turned to the direction from which they had come. "Roger."

A/N: Poor Eric! Did Roger do it? Is it a cover-up for Jack? Or is this some accident that wasn't ever supposed to happen? I'll keep you informed with my next update! Meanwhile, leave a little feedback and maybe it'll help me out a little. Thanks!

-mo


	6. Chapter Six

A/N: Sorry that this latest chapter took so long to be posted... Being quite bummed about the election results, I found myself to not be in the mood to right. However, politics aside (I am _so _tired of politics.), here you have it -- chapter number six! Not very much plot development here, but interesting to read anyway. I guarantee that good stuff will be arriving shortly. Heck, I've actually got my whole plot mapped out! Well, for the most part. Anyway, enough of my ramblings, and on to the story! Enjoy!

-mo

....

"How do you know it was him?! I mean, do you have proof? There's no basis whatsoever!" But Ralph soon found that trying to talk to Jack was like trying to strike up a conversation with a brick wall. "Dammit, Jack..."

The chief stopped in his tracks and whipped around to face the other boy. "Look," he hissed through gritted teeth, pointing a finger at Ralph's chest, "do you have a better explanation?! Did you see how beat up Eric was?! Did you see those bruises covering his body?! Who else on this island could have done _that_ to him?!"

"There was... that thing... on the mountain..." Ralph ventured warily, not sure if the beast-like creature was real or if the shadowy figure had just been a figment of the boys' imagination, construed by their fear of the darkness and the unknown.

"That was a _dead paratrooper_," Jack grumbled, as if it was obvious. "Look. Ralph, you've been suspicious of Roger the whole damn time! You said so yourself! So why are you holding back now, all of a sudden?"

Not sure of how to respond to the question, Ralph kept himself silent. Presently, he and Jack were storming through the untamed jungle, oblivious to the scrapes and welts that the dangling creepers inflicted upon them. Neither boy had been certain of what to do with Eric's body and, knowing that Sam would probably want to bid his twin brother farewell, they had hid the corpse amongst a gathering of boulders that stood near the edge of the jungle.

"He's such a rotten bugger!" Jack declared. "Wait 'till I get my hands on him. I'll show him who's chief."

Up ahead, Ralph could see that the jungle would soon end. Shafts of sunlight were pouring through the thinning canopy above, and the ground was becoming more and more rocky, strewn with small chunks of lightly colored igneous rock. It was hazardous to walk on the soil; decaying leaf matter often covered the dangerous lumps of granite, and it had been more than once that Ralph had gashed his foot open on the sharp mineral. All at once, he and Jack were out of the jungle and standing near Castle Rock, the outcrops of pink contrasting acutely with the brilliant, blue sky.

"Roger! Roger, get your _ass _over here!" Jack was cupping his hands to his mouth and hollering as loudly as he could. His voice bounced off the large, jutting boulders, and several small boys looked up to see what the problem was. "Ralph, go to the cave and get my spear."

"You're not gonna kill him..."

"Just _shut up _and get my damn spear."

Ralph complied, and dashed across the uneven ground, weaving his way between littluns and pieces of granite that obstructed his path. He finally reached the overhang in which he had spent the night, stooped down to his hands and knees, and crawled inside. Near the burnt-out fire pit was a long wooden spear, its point freshly sharpened and waiting to draw more blood. Ralph wondered if it was the same spear that had been chucked at him a day before, the same spear that could have ripped open his ribcage and sparred him of all of this chaos he was experiencing now. The boy shook the thoughts out of his head, snatched the spear from the dusty soil, and ran out of the cave, his feet thudding hard on the pink granite.

When he returned to where he had left Jack behind, Ralph found that Roger had apparently joined up with the other boy. The chief was speaking strictly and caustically, his hand gripping the hangman's shoulder. "Why'd you do it, Roger?!"

"I don't know what you're talking about," came a muffled, disgruntled reply.

"You killed Eric, you git!"

"I did _not_!"

Ralph didn't want to listen to their argument, and instead, he decided to seek out Sam. He had to find the remaining twin before everyone except himself knew about his brother's death. The littluns provided Ralph with little help of where he might be able to find the small, blonde-haired boy, but eventually, he did find Sam; he was tossing small pebbles off the cliff and watching them disappear into the frothy ocean water below. He took little notice when Ralph came to a stop behind him.

It was a hard thing to do, telling someone – a child, nonetheless – that his brother had been killed. Ralph didn't know what to say. He sifted through his brain, trying to find the most appropriate way to explain the death of Eric, but nothing came to mind. There just wasn't a dignified fashion in which to tell a nine year-old that his best friend, his twin brother, had been beaten to death and possibly worse. And so, for a long, silent period of time, all Ralph could do was stand there and watch Sam throw stones into the angry waves that licked the rocks forty feet below.

"Did you find him?" Sam's small, innocent voice shredded the silence like an exploding bomb, taking Ralph completely off-guard. "He's dead, isn't he?"

"Um..."

"You don't have to lie." Sam scooted away from the edge of the cliff and faced the older boy. "Eric's dead, right?"

Holding back another bout of tears, Ralph nodded, sniffled, and pushed the tangled hair out of his eyes. "God, Sam..." He fell to his ground, disregarding the sharp pain that sliced through his kneecaps when they made contact with the slab of hard granite. Before Ralph knew what he was doing, he had scooped up the younger boy into a hug, shuddering slightly.

"Where is he?" Sam asked, desperately trying to hide the tears that were streaking his dirty cheeks.

Ralph glanced over his shoulder, but from where he and Sam were crouched, he couldn't see Roger or Jack. "He – he's over near the old platform. Over on the beach. We – we removed him from out in the open, though." The younger boy squeezed his eyes shut, crying freely. This, above everything else, was the worst thing that had happened on the island. Ralph had felt guilty for taking part in the angry mob that had killed Simon, but like everyone else who had participated that night, he had formulated excuses to make himself feel better. _It was only an accident. We were all frightened and caught up singing that damn song. He shouldn't have come out of the forest like that, acting so batty. _Ralph could hardly blame himself for the death of Piggy, but he chose not to think about it, either. If the spectacled boy were still alive, the group might have already been rescued.

But Simon and Piggy were both dead, the only two boys on the island who knew what to do, who knew what was going on. The last shred of innocence had been lost when the tribe had beaten Simon to death, and the last source of true knowledge had been crushed by a rock and fallen to his death, all because of Roger.

_Roger. Eric!_

"Who did it?"

Sam's voice shook Ralph from his thoughts, and for a moment, all he could do was stare dumbly at the younger boy. "I... Jack thinks Roger did it, but... Oh, God, Sam, I don't know!"

A spark of hate flickered in the twin's eyes, and he frowned. "Why did it have to be Eric? I mean... I mean... Eric." It was obvious that Sam was suffering from a sort of shock; he began to babble meaningless words and phrases, unfinished sentences; it was as if he was still waiting for his dead brother to join him. "Please take me to him," Sam said at last, finally piecing together a phrase that made sense.

_I don't know_, Ralph wanted to tell the younger the boy. _He was beaten and maybe worse... How would you ever be able to handle it? _But the original chief knew that Sam had seen plenty of death and destruction since arriving on the island. He had seen and participated in the killing of Simon; he had watched Piggy fall to his death; he had been absorbed into the tribe and forced to keep watch. Sam was just as scarred as Ralph was, and so seeing his dead brother wouldn't be anything too new, he decided. "Alright," the older boy responded at last. "Alright. We're gonna leave without Jack and Roger; we don't want them getting there before us." Sam sniffled as he and Ralph stood, and together, they began to trek toward the jungle.

Ralph disregarded Jack's request for a spear and instead took the weapon with him. He knew very well that there were no beasts on the island, that is, no beasts besides the boys themselves. However, in the back of his mind, Ralph heard a voice that cautioned him, _Be on your guard. Watch out. _Ralph wasn't the type to second-guess himself and, as he and the dejected twin tromped through the undergrowth of the jungle, he clutched the sharpened stick tightly in his right hand.

...

"Rest in peace," Sam murmured, patting the damp mound of dark, clay-laden soil. Working as fast as their worn muscles could, he and Ralph had dug a shallow grave for the dead boy near the edge of the forest. Neither had wanted to venture too far into the untamed jungle, but they didn't want a high tide to roll in and wash anything away. "You're... the first one... to receive a proper burial." It was true; both Simon and Piggy had been swallowed by the ocean, never to be seen again. For the first time, a victim -- presumably of Roger -- had been given the respect he deserved.

Kneeling next to Sam, Ralph put a comforting arm around the younger boy. "Are you going to be alright?"

He sniffled a little, and nodded. "I... think so."

"If you ever need help..." Ralph was surprised to hear himself say this. He had never been good with emotions or helping other people out; some kids back home considered him to be cold and unhelpful when they were in dire need of support. Nor was Ralph the type of child to cry, and yet, in the past couple days, he had sobbed more than he had previously in his twelve years of life. He patted Sam's back softly. "Look. I'll be here for you when you need it."

Nodding, the younger, blonde-haired boy sniffled once more, then, much to Ralph's surprise, a brilliant smile spread across his lips. "Thank you."

At that moment, Jack's shouting ripped through the silence. "Just what the hell do you think you're doing, Ralph?!" He, Roger, and Maurice were approaching from the beach, scowls masking all of their faces much like the paint they used to wear. "You buried him?!"

Ralph nodded, slowly, moving in front of Sam. Maurice and Roger were both armed with sharpened sticks, but they held back and let Jack approach the former chief. "I... We couldn't leave him there forever, Jack! I mean, Sam had to say goodbye without _Roger _hanging around, and..."

"Shut up," Jack grumbled, and moved closer to Ralph, his voice a mere whisper. "The body could have been _proof_, Ralph! If Roger'd seen it, he might have started to break down, you know, confess." The chief frowned, knowing of the curious glances his minions were giving him. "Look, I've got to do this for _them_. Because to them, you're still my slave."

"You mean I'm not anymore?"

Jack shook his head slightly then murmured, his voice virtually inaudible, "Sorry, Ralph." With that said, the boy lashed out a hand at Ralph's face. The fair-haired boy stumbled backward, holding his mouth; luckily, he wasn't bleeding. Ralph looked up just in time to see Jack mouth the word _sorry. _But Ralph wasn't disheartened or hurt, emotionally. He knew exactly what Jack's intentions were; it was all a show for the boys he commanded. As far as they knew, Ralph was still Jack's slave, and if they saw the older boy being treated too nicely, they would undoubtedly begin to question their chief's motives, become suspicious.

"Are you okay?"

Ralph turned around to face a frightened Sam. "I'm fine," he grumbled. "Don't worry about it."

"We're headed back to Castle Rock," Jack barked. It was a command, and with Roger and Maurice close at hand, Ralph knew he had to follow it. _Never question a chief's motives in front of his own men._ And so, as morning turned to afternoon, the five boys trudged back to where they had come from, leaving behind only footprints and a freshly-made pile of dark soil.

...

A/N: Short, rather pointless chapter. But I hope you all enjoyed it a little. Next chapter will be posted in less than a week, I promise. Remember that golden rule -- feedback is greatly appreciated! Keep it real and enjoy your weekend, folks!

-mo


	7. Chapter Seven

A/N: After a small wait, here is chapter number seven! I'd really like to thank my wonderful reviewers -- you are all so fantastic! (You know who you are!) Here is a strangely long chapter with more plot development (well, would you imagine that?) and see if you can find some symbolism here. I tried to be like Mr. Golding and write well! Enjoy!

-mo

...

"Have you seen him?" Ralph asked with a certain strain in his voice.

"Who?"

"Johnny, of course."

"Why would I care?" Jack demanded. "I don't talk to the littluns anymore! Has he gone missing or something?"

Ralph nodded earnestly. "Henry hasn't seen him since two days ago."

The chief bit his lower lip and took a moment to think. What felt like a few months had passed since Eric's death. So far, everything had been going smoothly in the weeks after that day; members of the tribe had forced the killing into the very backs of their minds, hoping to forget about it. Until this moment, all the boys had been functioning properly together, as if nothing had happened. "I don't know what to say," Jack grumbled at last, finding this news rather disturbing.

With the passing of time also came the passing of seasons and the rebirth of life. As the skies grew cloudier every day, and rain poured down more often, green shoots of life were springing up from the black, deathly ashes that the last great fire had left behind. The creepers and vines, once scorched from the flames, were winding up the trunks of the palm trees once again, their night-blooming flowers fragrant and colorful in the evenings. The population of pigs on the island was apparently starting to rise again, and this came as a great relief to the boys, who were tired of eating fruit almost every night.

"You _should_," Ralph muttered, his arms crossed over his tanned chest. "You know, you being the _chief _and all."

Jack frowned, and a blush of embarrassment splashed across his face. "Well, they disappear all the time!"

"Yeah, but not like _this_!" Ralph shot back. He and Jack were seated on the pebbly bank of a small stream, far away from any of the other boys. When they were alone, Ralph found himself talking freely and forcefully to his so-called owner; he dominated their conversations with his louder, more convincing voice and, if both boys were given a spear and told to kill the other, Ralph probably would have been the victor. But those days of hate were long past he and Jack, and it wasn't uncommon for one to be asking the other for some sort of advice.

"Give him a day," Jack said, absently grinding a dead leaf between his fingers. "Give him a day and he'll probably show up."

Ralph was doubtful, but said nothing. The other boy's mind was someplace else, far away from his body, wandering somewhere in the deep fathoms of thought. "What are you thinking, Jack?"

The red-haired boy turned to his companion, another frown creasing his forehead. "What do you mean?"

Ralph shrugged, pushing a long strand of blonde hair from his eyes. In the months that had passed, his locks had grown, considerably, and ignoring that it was a feminine thing to do, he finally tied his hair behind his head in a ponytail. "I mean... you look pretty distant this afternoon, Jack."

The chief smirked. "You think so?"

Nodding, Ralph stood and waded into the stream, letting the cool water rush above his ankles to his shins. "I know a lot has changed between us in the past few months, but you aren't the same Jack I knew when you were _the _chief and you were hunting me down and all."

"You want me to be mean again?" he laughed.

The fair-haired boy shook his head, and dug his toes into the pebbly riverbed. "No, it's not that, it's just that you still have control of everyone and all, but it's just... different." Ralph turned to Jack. "You understand what I'm saying?"

"No."

"Maybe it's a good thing," he mused, gazing into the green canopy above. For a moment, there was a respectful silence that brimmed with a sense of understanding for both boys, and no words needed to be spoken. Ralph cupped some of the clear, fresh water in his hands and brought it to his grimy face, his want for a comb and soap and new clothes slowly disappearing.

Without saying anything, Jack stood, stretched his wiry arms above his head, and waded into the cold, burbling water of the stream. He sloshed around in it a little, letting the soothing liquid carry away dried blood and dirt, the results of tumbles in the jungle and run-ins with the creepers. At last he broke the silence. "Well, I mean... You're right, Ralph."

"Hm?"

Jack gnawed on the inside of his cheek, his face twisting with thought. "You're right, I guess I have changed. I've been thinking."

Ralph chuckled. "Well, that's a new one, isn't it?"

"Shut up," the chief said, allowing a grin to slip by. "I've just been thinking about what's happened on this island. With everyone. With us. How much things have changed since we first got here."

The older boy crossed his arms. "Things do change with time, I guess. How long has it been? A quarter of a year, half a year, maybe?"

Jack nodded. "Probably. What would that make you? Thirteen?"

Ralph shot the chief a critical glance. "I guess so. Why's it matter?"

A shrug. "I don't know. I... Nevermind."

"You're batty," Ralph said, cocking one eyebrow. "But I like you for that." He stepped out of the stream and onto the rocky bank, hardly wishing he had a towel or shoes or anything of the civilized sort. _Those days are over_. Shooting Jack a small grin, Ralph added, "I'm gonna go find Sam and look for Johnny."

"Alright," Jack said, but by then, Ralph had disappeared, leaving the chief more confused than ever.

...

"I thought I could find you here!"

Seated on a dead palm trunk on top of the platform, Sam twisted around to see a figure running toward him from the jungle. It was Ralph, his wet, blonde hair plastered to his forehead, and a grin spread across his face. "Hullo!"

"So, what have you been up to today?" the older boy asked as soon as he reached the platform. He was heaving, clearly out of breath, but Sam could see that he was happy, if not a touch bit worried, but in good spirits, nonetheless.

"Not much," the lone twin said, running a hand through his unruly hair. "I've kind of been exploring around the beach, you know, maybe looking for a bottle or something to put a note in, but then I realized I don't have any paper or pen in the first place."

"You really want to get off of this island, don't you?" Ralph asked as he took a seat next to the younger boy.

Sam nodded, his eyes wandering to the deep blue of the ocean. Clouds were beginning to foul up the sky, masking the cerulean blue with a dense, opaque gray. "It's not that I miss my family," he said, watching a lone seagull float on the sea breeze. "I'm just fed up with this island. I would like to watch my TV set again, or read a book, or have a listen to the radio..."

"I know what you mean." Ralph scratched an insect bite on his shoulder, then asked, "Can you came with me to look for Johnny?"

"Has he gone missing?"

Ralph shrugged. "Henry said he hasn't seen him for a few days, so I'm assuming that he's missing."

"I'll help, then." Both boys stood and walked off the Platform, memories of how the group used to meet in civility and in an organized fashion long forgotten.

...

Jack was still standing in the cool current of the stream, letting the burbling water lick at his legs. The polished pebbles beneath his feet were cool and smooth, and for a moment, he forgot about England and his home there. He was transported far away, to a world of peace and quiet, deep introspection and thoughtfulness, a _good _place. Realizing that he'd been holding his breath for no reason, the boy let out a sigh and walked upstream, against the weak current. The branches of woody trees and the fronds of the palms created a tunnel above Jack, and brightly-colored birds squawked with surprise as he waded by.

Ralph was hard to figure out, the chief decided with a frown. _Probably the same way he feels about me, _ he thought. The water was growing deeper, rising to Jack's thighs, and he realized that he had yet to explore this part of the island. He ventured deeper, ignoring the snagging limbs of trees and the dangerous creepers that hung from their branches. _God, I wonder if we'll ever get out of here._

The current was becoming swifter, and the rocks under his feet larger and more jagged. The water was up to the boy's waist, and the shrubbery was closing in around him, and yet he still continued to walk. Nearby there was splattering sound; a gentle roar of sorts, coming from the jungle. Unafraid, Jack proceeded up the stream, the current grasping at his skin, the stones biting at his feet.

Before he saw the waterfall, Jack knew exactly what it was. He heard the water hitting the rocks, splashing, much like the way a shower sounded. Pushing his hair out of his eyes, he squinted through the dense branches and saw a spout of pure, white water pouring from a high granite shelf, falling several meters before hitting the slabs of pink granite below. The boy let out a delighted whoop and dashed through the water as fast as he could, and soon found himself in a world of enchantment.

Nestled among patches of vibrant, green mosses were clumps of ferns, positioned right on the bare rock. Birds nested in the palms, unconcerned by Jack's presence. Gaudy butterflies and metallic dragonflies flitted about, sometimes chasing one another, other times, minding their own businesses. Jack walked up to the spout of water and held a hand under it, loving the feel of cold, pure water against his skin. With an adventurous grin, he moved under the waterfall, shivering with delight as it soaked his hair and his face and his shoulders.

"I have _got _to tell Ralph about this."

...

"So you haven't seen Henry?!"

"Nuh-uh." Percival trembled under this sudden question, as if his very life depended on the answer he provided. "Not nowhere."

Ralph heaved a sigh and glanced to Sam. "Well, that's just _great_. Now we've got _two _littluns missing."

"Is it possible they just wandered off to play or something?" the twin wondered.

"It could happen, but..." Ralph thought for a moment, biting on a fingernail with worry. "No, not for two days, and it's been a while since they say Henry's been gone, and he can't do much to help himself..."

"Percival," Sam said, his voice becoming softer for the young boy, "when was the last time you saw Henry?"

The small boy shrugged his bony, tanned shoulders. "Not since this morning, maybe."

"Is it possible he went out to look for Johnny?" the twin asked.

"I suppose."

"What a great lot of help," Sam grumbled as he turned to Ralph. "What do you think?"

The older boy frowned, his arms crossed over his chest. "I'm worried. It's becoming a trend."

"Beastie," Percival whimpered before toddling over to the placid, white sands of the beach.

"There's no beastie," Ralph grumbled to Sam, and in the back of his mind, he vaguely remembered a time when he had to repeat the phrase several times over to the group of boys, months ago when he used to be the chief. "There's no beastie, there's no snake, there's no creature to be afraid of." But life was full of ironies and Ralph knew it. He knew that somewhere on the island, there was a creature of some sort and in time, they would discover who or what it actually was. "Alright, Sam, I guess we've just gotta go and look for them."

"Where should we go?" the younger boy wondered as he and Ralph sauntered away from the dazzling beach.

"Where we found Eric."

...

When Jack emerged from the jungle and onto the beach, he looked like a miserable, grimy mess, but the wide grin spanning his face said otherwise. He was excited and eager to tell Ralph about his discovery in the forest, and the anticipation of the other boy's reaction made him dance about with jollity. Disappointment, however, descended, when the only boy Jack saw on the beach was Percival, hunched over and playing in the sand.

"Where is Ralph?!"

The small boy jumped with surprise and turned around to face his chief. "Uh... Uh... He an' Sam went to go and find Johnny an' Henry," he sputtered.

Jack frowned and stalked away, slightly annoyed at how much attention Ralph was giving the remaining twin. _Be reasonable, _ he told himself, trying to keep from clenching his fists. _Be reasonable. The boy's brother was killed, for heaven's sake! He probably still cries about it at night!_

Not sure of where to seek out Ralph and Sam, Jack decided to call it a day and headed back to Castle Rock. The sun was already at an oblique angle as it poked through the clouds, sending long shadows of the trees across the glowing, white sand. Jack opted to forget about Sam altogether; the chief was still ecstatic about the waterfall he found in the jungle and as soon as Ralph returned, he would gush about it all evening.

...

"Dear God." Ralph fell to the sand, the sharp grains pushing against his knees. In front of him lay the sprawled bodies of Johnny and Henry, their limbs splayed out in unnatural ways. "Why?"

Sam twitched nervously. "This is rotten business right here."

"They're both so bruised up," the older boy murmured, not crushed by the deaths, but still feeling quite somber. "A lot like how... yeah."

The twin nodded. "Think it's Roger?"

Ralph glanced away from the two bodies, up at the darkening sky. "Yeah, but why _now_, all of a sudden? And _why_?"

"He's strange, I tell you," Sam grumbled, trying not to look at the dead boys' bloodied faces. "Savage. Doesn't care about anybody. He beat up on me an' Eric real good when he discovered we'd been talking to you the day before they went hunting for you. Got real mad when he found out we lied to him about where you were hidden."

"I suppose we'll just have to avoid him, then," Ralph said, still looking at the pink and orange clouds on the horizon. "It's getting late. We really should start heading back to Castle Rock before Jack gets suspicious."

"I guess." Sam forced himself to come to terms with death and he glanced down at the corpses that laid in front of him and Ralph. "We can't just leave them here."

Shuddering, Ralph knelt down and carefully lifted the broken body of Henry. "I know. Not overnight. And we can't bury them, either, or Jack'll get mad and he might never believe us." The older boy tore his gaze away from the lifeless eyes of the boy in his arms, then motioned with his chin to Sam. "Can you handle picking him up and carrying him back to Castle Rock?"

Though he was visibly shivering and obviously hating the idea of touching a dead body, the twin nodded. He stooped down and gathered the boy in his arms. It wasn't physically demanding for Sam to carry the dead littlun -- Johnny had been the smallest boy on the island. But mentally, it was a long haul, and Sam took a deep breath, trying to console himself of this terrible task.

As they started the long trek back to Castle Rock, Ralph kept his chin up and his wandering eyes away from the body he carried. He breathed in and out of his mouth, refusing to accept the smell of death in his nostrils. And, as he saw the small, lit fires nestled among the pink granite boulders, Ralph wondered what Jack would think.

...

A/N: I hope you enjoyed that. Before long, the eighth chapter will be up, because I am really starting to get into this all of a sudden. (Seven chapters already... Wow, I feel accomplished.) Have a great weekend, my wonderful readers and reviewers!

-mo


	8. Chapter Eight

A/N: Chapter numero... eight. Yeah, I guess you can say that stuff does happen in this chapter, and, what's more, you slash-seekers will soon be happy! The main plot doesn't move too much in this installment, but... Well, what am I saying? Read and find out for yourself! Enjoy!

-mo

...

The dark curtain of night had fallen when Sam and Ralph finally reached Castle Rock. Unable to carry the dead weight of the bodies up the steep and precarious cliffs, the boys had left the corpses of Henry and Johnny a few yards away from where the rocky ascension began.

Jack was eagerly awaiting the return of Ralph, and as soon as he saw the him and Sam walking toward the overhang, the chief sprang out, dancing excitedly. "Ralph! Ralph! You'll never believe what I found!"

"Jack." Ralph's voice was deadpan and serious, but the other boy didn't seem to take any notice.

"You've got to see it..."

"Jack."

"A waterfall in the jungle! You'd never imagine how wizard it is!"

"Jack, shut up." Ralph placed his hands on the other boy's bare shoulders, in an effort to quell his jumpiness.

"What is it?" Jack asked with a bit of annoyance, although he didn't shrug off Ralph's grasp.

"We found Johnny and Henry."

"Oh, good. Tomorrow morning I've got to show..."

Ralph frowned. "They're _dead_."

An uncomfortable silence stretched between the two boys, and Jack looked away, pretending to take interest in a small campfire blazing several feet from where they stood. "I... I..." He turned back to Ralph. "You didn't bury them, did you?"

"No, not yet."

"Take me to them, then." Jack glanced to Sam. "Keep a lookout on my cave. If you see Roger tell him to find me."

"But..." Sam protested.

"I'm your _chief_," the older boy growled, and seized a wooden spear. Jack turned back to Ralph. "Take me there." Carefully stepping down the rocky path, Ralph and Jack arrived at the foot of the granite outcrop. The bodies of the littluns were resting on the ground, hidden amongst the bushes and creepers and dead leaf matter. Jack knelt in the damp soil, and squinted through the darkness as he examined the dead boys. "Bloody hell," he murmured, not able to look away from the death that sprawled out in front of him. "Looks just like what happened to Eric. Were they here when you found them?"

Ralph shook his head. "No, Sam and I found them in the same place where you and I found Eric."

"Then it's the same guy," the chief decided, standing again. "Think it's Roger?"

Ralph nodded. "I can't think of anyone else."

"I wonder why he does it now, all of a sudden." Jack sighed, and glanced past the treetops to the dark sky above. Moonlight was peering out from behind the thinner cloud cover, bathing everything in an eerie, silver hue. "What should we do about it?"

"Why are you asking me? You're the _chief_."

There was more silence, and Jack frowned. "I... God, Ralph, you know I can't make these decisions! I don't care if I'm chief or not, it's _obvious _that you're the more rational of the two of us!" He stared intently at the dark jungle growth, the organic blackness that the light of the moon could not penetrate. "Seriously, Ralph. What do you think I should do?"

"Learn how to make decisions," the older boy scowled, turning his back to the chief. "It's what being a leader is all about."

"You don't say," Jack grumbled.

"Listen to me, Jack!" Ralph faced the other boy once more, his arms crossed over his chest. "Do you light a fire for rescue or waltz through the jungle hunting pigs? Form a search party for a missing boy or have a little crusade through the wilderness to find a waterfall?"

"That's not the point!" Jack insisted, dropping the spear to the ground, afraid that he might use it on accident. "That stuff has passed already, there's nothing we can do about it now. What matters is Roger and _what should I do about it_?"

"Now you're getting somewhere," the fair-haired boy said, facing away from Jack again, toward the navy ocean, where points of starlight hung overhead like frozen diamonds. "What do you want to do, Jack? Do you want Roger to come down here and risk confrontation? Do you want to bury the bodies, and ask him about it in the morning? Do you want to keep it quiet, for now? It's up to you. You're the bloody chief and you make the bloody decisions! That's what you're supposed to do!"

Jack scratched his chin and stared at the bare back of the boy in front of him. The moonlight was hitting his spine, giving his shoulder blades the affect as if they were protruding farther than they were supposed to, as if Ralph was severely malnourished. This, of course, wasn't the case, Jack knew; Ralph was one of the most healthy boys on the island, if not the healthiest. He was fit and strong and his skin was golden and tanned, and in the daylight he didn't look nearly as ghastly as he did by the glow of the moon. Jack shuddered. "I... I guess we'll bury them now, ask questions later, and keep it quiet from the rest of the tribe."

"Very well then," Ralph responded, keeping his eyes focused on the sea. "You know that the boys are already very suspicious of what's going on. This could be the last straw."

"It won't be," Jack murmured, approaching the former chief. "They'll shut up about it in a day or two's time. Just wait." He extended a hand and let it rest on one of Ralph's shoulders. Jack had been expecting the skin to be hot, or at the very least warm, but was surprised to feel a certain chilliness at his fingertips. "I... Ralph... God, you're _freezing_! Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," the boy replied, shuddering slightly under the chief's touch. "It's just kind of cold out, that's all."

Jack let his other hand rest on Ralph's other shoulder, and for a long, unbearable span of time, there was a heavy, awkward silence. At last, "Turn around and face me, Ralph."

"No."

"_I'm your chief_."

The older boy did comply, and as Jack lifted his hands a few inches from his shoulders, Ralph rotated so that he was looking directly into the chief's eyes. Immediately, the hands were back down on his shoulders, gripping them tightly, and Ralph grumbled, "What the hell do you want?"

The red-haired boy hadn't prepared himself for this, or for anything, for that matter, and he stuttered, his icy blue eyes misting a little. "I... I... I don't know. Maybe I'm just being stupid. Don't listen to me. Let's just bury the bodies." His voice soon trailed off into an inaudible whisper. Jack looked down, breaking the stare with Ralph, and found the damp, earthy soil to be far more interesting.

"Alright, Jack. Let's do it."

...

An immeasurable amount of time passed before Ralph and Jack had finished burying the bodies. Ralph himself wasn't wholly satisfied with the decision that the chief had made; it was twice, now, that the evidence of Roger's cruelty had been hidden forever. In the end, however, perhaps it had been the right choice, the fair-haired boy considered. He knew that a standoff with Roger in the dark would mean suicide, and it was something that Ralph knew that he and Jack had to avoid. _But three strikes and you're out? _the former chief thought to himself. _In baseball, it's alright, but when we're talking about the lives of boys..._

He forced himself to forget about the future consequences, no matter how foolish a thing it was to do, and followed Jack back up the steep, rocky path. There were groups of boys, ever-dwindling in number, seated about small fires, their faces lit with an orangey glow; suspicion, worry, and fear were written all over their expressions. Smoke, invisible in the night, billowed into the dark sky, detectable only when an updraft blew it into one's eyes or mouth.

Jack groaned. "Look at them. They know something's wrong."

"They look more serious than soldiers on the eve of war."

"Should I tell them?"

For once, Ralph found himself making a decision for Jack. "No, not now, not at night. They'll get nightmares! Wait until morning, or tomorrow afternoon, when the sun is high and there's no fear of what can't be seen in the dark." Ralph glanced about the granite boulders. "Where's Roger?"

"Haven't seen him for a couple of days now." Jack followed Ralph into the little cave, and he sat down on the hard, cold rock. "I'm assuming he's left the tribe. He's knows we're on to him."

"Has he taken anybody with him?"

The chief shook his head. "No, not yet, anyway."

"Where's Sam?!" Ralph found himself to be worried, all of a sudden, and not for an invalid reason. "Have you seen him since we returned?"

"Yeah," Jack muttered, motioning out the mouth of the cave with his thumb. "He's at a campfire with Percival and some of the other littluns. Protecting them, I guess."

"Good." Ralph hugged his knees to his chest, shivering slightly. The temperature was dropping as what he thought to be a rainy season was finally coming round. He sighed, shot a sidelong glance to Jack, and muttered, "What happened tonight, Jack? What's wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with me?"

"Yeah."

Jack frowned. "I'll tell you what's wrong with me, Ralph. I miss human contact. I miss feelings. I miss emotions and love and everything that we had back home." He picked up a small twig and dragged it against the hard, rocky floor, sharpening its end in his quiet frustration. "I miss the feeling of being wanted."

Ralph narrowed his eyes, wanting to say something, but not sure of what. "I..." He focused on a faraway campfire, then let his eyes wander to the stars that were spangled across the inky sky. The wonder of seeing more stars than he had ever seen back in London had long since worn off, and now the brilliant constellations were commonplace. "I know what you mean."

"I don't know..."

"What you mean?"

"No," Jack grumbled, a faraway look in his eyes. "I don't know if _you _know what I mean." He relayed the sentence in his head and let out a boyish giggle when he realized that it didn't make much sense. "You understand what I'm saying?"

"Yeah," Ralph said, his lips turning into a thin smile. "But I really do think I know what you're saying."

Feeling adventurous, Jack extended an arm, and with it he encircled Ralph's shivering body. "You need to warm up," the chief muttered, and he gave the other boy a kind smile. "Why don't you join Sam around that fire over there?"

Ralph had to admit, the familiar reddish glow of the blaze did look inviting, but there was something so much warmer about Jack's touch, something that fire could never mimic. He leaned into the other boy a little, thankful to have shelter from the cold, and thankful that finally he and the chief had made amends.

...

"So what were you babbling about last night, about a waterfall in the woods?"

Jack laughed gaily and quickened his pace through the jungle. "It's wizard, Ralph. I can't believe no one had discovered it yet." He pushed a creeper out of his face and struggled to keep his balance; the two boys were walking along the mushy banks of the stream, heading to its presumed source. "It's like... like something from a movie or a book. Like what you'd find at an oasis."

Ralph rolled his eyes and kept silent as he followed the other boy. He was sure that Jack was embellishing his story, crafting it into more of a tall tale than a factual experience. Finally, "So how far are we from this waterfall of yours?"

"Not far at all!" Jack insisted, grinning widely. "It's just upstream a little farther." Abruptly, he stopped talking and came to a halt. A moment later, "See? You hear that?"

Sure enough, much to Ralph's surprise, there was the faraway falling of water. "Is it big?"

Jack shrugged. "Kinda. I mean, it's tall, but it's more like a spout of water than a sheet. You'll see." He and Ralph continued to walk. When the land along the banks of the creek became too unstable and choked with undergrowth, they jumped into the water and walked against the current. It was cold and refreshing, and after a few moments passed, Jack pointed ahead. "See?"

Ralph saw it, through the dense leaves and creepers. White water pouring from the pink, mossy rocks, cascading into an otherwise tranquil pool surrounded by reeds and palms. "Wacco!" He moved ahead of Jack, wading as fast as he could through the water that rose to his waist. "How did we ever miss this?"

Jack came up behind him. "I have no idea."

His dark eyes following the gauzy, flitting form of a tropical butterfly, Ralph allowed himself to relax. He waded into the pool, its revitalizing water feeling so good against his bruised, sunburned, and mosquito-bitten skin. "I could spend a whole day here, just _looking _at this." Ralph extended a hand into the spout of falling water, and when it deflected off his fingers and splashed into his face, he laughed, as if he were still a small, innocent child.

"It's a good thing that this didn't get burned by the fire," Jack said casually; the purpose of the fire -- to chase out Ralph so that the tribe could kill him -- had been long forgotten. He stooped into the calm water and lifted a polished, round stone -- it was pink, just like the rock that the island was made up of. "What do you think? Incredible, huh?"

"It really is." Ralph took his hand out from under the spout; it was red and bruised from the constant battering of the falling water, but at the same time, the boy felt like he was renewed, refreshed. _Like a massage._ "Thanks for taking me here and not keeping it a secret." Ralph paused, looking into the blueness above, and added with a tinge of guilt, "Sorry I was so rude last night, when you were trying to tell me about it."

"It's okay," Jack muttered. "You had more important things to say. More important than this waterfall." His voice trailed off before the sentence ended, but it didn't matter. Jack's thoughts were dwelling somewhere else, once again, like they always did when he found himself and Ralph to be alone. The other boy's eyes were focused on a large, brightly-colored bird that was perched on a low tree branch, oblivious to Jack as he drew nearer. His reflexes just as quick as they were when he was hunting, Jack drew Ralph into an embrace, and, in a gesture that broke all the taboos and social laws back home in England, he planted a hesitant kiss on the older boy's lips.

...

A/N: Yay! A kiss! But how will Ralph react? Mwaha. I am leaving you on a cliffhanger, but don't fret! Chapter nine should arrive this weekend! Have a great week, everyone! Do your civic duty and leave a little bit of feedback! Thanks for reading and hang in there...

-mo


	9. Chapter Nine

A/N: Sorry I've taken such a long time to update… I extend the apologies even more, because this is a pretty short chapter. I was uninspired for a long stretch of time, and for about a week, all I had written was the first line of this chapter. Anyway, away from the stupid apologies -- it's a short, meaningful chapter. Read it, enjoy it, and leave a little bit of feedback!

-mo

…

"What… what are you _doing_?!" Ralph jerked his head away, not violently, but in a more surprised manner.

"I… don't… know…" Jack focused his eyes on the clear, pure water, trying to hide the bright redness that was washing over his face. "Oh, damn, Ralph -- I'm sorry!" With that said, he turned on his heel, as fast as he could in the pool, and sloshed away from the other boy.

Ralph crossed his arms over his chest, and only then could he feel himself trembling, shivering, as if he was genuinely cold. The water was warm, the air was temperate and humid, but… It must have been _himself _that was cold… A frown creased the boy's forehead, and before he knew what he was doing, he called out. "Jack! Jack! Wait, don't go! Come back!"

The red-haired boy came to a halt, the current pushing against his hips. "What do you want?" he asked in a deadpan voice, not facing Ralph.

"I want to talk to you," he replied, not budging from his spot near the waterfall. The falling spout was roaring in his ears, though Ralph was certain that it hadn't been that loud before. He couldn't hear the chirps and squawks of the brightly-plumed tropical birds, only the crash of the waterfall and his loud, shallow breathing. "Please, come back. I won't hurt you."

Jack whipped his head around fiercely. "Who said you would?!"

"Sorry, Jack."

"_You're _sorry? Why should _you _be sorry?!" Slowly, he approached Ralph, the blush fleeting from his face. "_I'm _sorry! I'm sorry for acting like a fairy! I'm sorry for it all! Can you just please _forget _it?!"

Ralph scratched his chin, immersed in deep thought. He shook his head slowly and murmured, "You don't need to be sorry."

Jack stared past the other boy and at the white foam of the spout of water. "It's wrong," he grumbled, repeating the effects of the brainwashing that all the boys had undergone in England. "It's wrong, immoral, and I'll likely go to Hell for it."

Ralph rolled his eyes. "You and your Hell! Don't you realize, this island we're on _is _Hell! The fire, the death, the sad excuse for the food that we eat! D'you really think we'll ever get rescued from this rock?!"

"You seemed to think so, if I remember correctly."

"Why, that was _ages _ago! I don't still believe that! And I sure hope _you _don't!"

Jack shook his head. "I don't…" He pointed at the waterfall. "Is that Hell, Ralph? The blue sky, unchoked by smog? Something we never see in London? Is that Hell to you? The jungle, with all of its trees and bushes, the clean stream that we're standing in, I assume those are Hell to you, too."

"I didn't mean…"

"Of course you didn't." Jack rolled his eyes and instead studied the long, green fronds of a palm tree that was bent over the tranquil pool.

"Jack, our differing versions of Hell wasn't what I wanted to talk about." Ralph extended a hand, grabbed Jack's arm, and yanked him closer, with a certain amount of strength that surprised the other. "Listen, _boy_," Ralph whispered, using a pronoun that he had never dreamed of appointing to Jack, "what you did to me, oh, five minutes ago -- thanks to all this quarreling we've been having -- was one of the best things that has happened to me on this stupid island!"

Jack blinked, but didn't pull away, even if the older boy was grasping him rather roughly. "No! You're not telling the truth, Ralph! I know that as soon as we get back to Castle Rock, you'll be running everywhere, telling all the other boys how much of a fairy their chief is!"

The fair-haired boy shook his head slowly, mouthing the word _no_. "You're wrong, Jack. That was the first time in _months _that I've felt needed, that it's seemed like someone wants me. Like I'm loved." Ralph looked away, ashamed for sounding so poetic, and watched the sky; a storm would be rolling in, soon, he could feel it in the air. "Jack, you don't need to be sorry."

The chief shuddered, and all of a sudden, the water that pooled around his hips felt very cold, like ice. He slogged through it, until he reached the rocky bank, and pulled himself out, shivering in his soaked state. He frowned, hugging his knees to his chest, and whispered haltingly, "P-prove it."

A shudder coursed through Ralph's body, like a blast of chill, and he waded through the pool until he reached the bank where Jack was seated. Still in the water, Ralph leaned forward, placing his hands on Jack's bony shoulders, and brought the younger boy into an embrace. A moment later, their lips were pressed against each other, sharing warmth and maybe something else, and Ralph wondered just what the hell he was doing.

…

That afternoon, it rained, with as much intensity as a gale at sea. The waves, riding a stiff ocean breeze, ripped away at the shoreline, ravaged the rocks, and dragged bits and pieces of the island away. The wind tore at the palm trees, sending their fronds and leaves flying through the air. Ralph was glad that he was on high land, sheltered in Jack's cave near Castle Rock. There was a feeble fire going, but it looked like it would blow out at any moment, and so he just wrapped a large, bristly pig hide around himself. Jack was elsewhere, in the farthest corner of the overhang, huddled against the stony wall. He refused to talk to anyone -- even Ralph -- and so he cowered, alone, far away from the weak glow of the fire.

Ralph sighed, and poked at the orange embers with a stick. He didn't know what had happened down by the waterfall that morning, and he didn't really want to think about it. For some reason, it made him shudder uncontrollably, not as if he was scared, but… Ralph sighed again. He hoped that Jack wouldn't make a big deal of it, or misinterpret it and take it all farther. But at the same time, Ralph had craved that human contact. There was something special about it, a special warmth, a certain connection that nothing else could quite mimic. The boy was finding himself so starved for human affection that he didn't care whom it came from, whether it was a boy or a girl, a man or a woman, an acquaintance or a stranger.

He groaned and jabbed at the embers again. Ralph decided that he was a sad case, a poor excuse for a boy, a child deprived of everything that had been so important to him several months before. Rubbing his hands together to keep warm, Ralph watched the turbulent, angry sea, the whitecaps rolling into the shore. A lone seagull struggled against the wind, so much that it was flying backward. Ralph wished that he was home, away from this all, curled up in front of the fireplace with his golden retriever lying beside him, breathing softly… _Stop it! _he told himself madly. _Stop it. How many times have you wished for this before?! It'll never happen! Never! Make do with what you've got, boy! You don't have anything else!_

Ralph twisted around and squinted into the darkness of the rocky overhang. Jack was there, cowering in the shadows, looking directly at the older boy. Surprised, Ralph glanced away, and returned his gaze to the turbulent water of the ocean. It was another long, awkward stretch of silence, but the crashing of the waves seemed to atone for some of it. Ralph squirmed, and wished he was dead.

"Hey." It was Jack, whispering, but his sudden voice seemed to boom over the gale. "I want to talk."

"You're talking," Ralph murmured. "Carry on."

"Did you really mean it?" he asked, still hiding in the depths of the overhang. "Or were you just trying to make me feel better?"

"There's more important stuff going on, Jack." Ralph turned around so that he was facing the red-haired boy. "There's the deaths, there's Roger, there's the littluns -- they're scared, you know. There's the fact that you're their _chief_. You don't want to let them down."

"But, Ralph…"

"Forget about what happened this morning, alright? Leave it alone." Ralph's dark eyes never left Jack. "Take care of what's important, first."

"I don't know what's important anymore."

Ralph heaved a sky and crawled across the floor of the cave until he was seated next to Jack. "At times, neither do I."

…

A/N: Um… Way too short. I'm sorry. Did you like that chapter? Why or why not? Thanks for bearing with me and reading. Hope it was worth your time… If it was, leave a comment… It's much appreciated, so I can see how I'm doing. 'Till next time…

-mo


	10. Chapter Ten

A/N: I am speechless. I haven't updated in months, and yet I fid this stuff that I had already written but had not yet posted! To quell the hunger of my readers, this bit will serve as a short tenth chapter, while I put off studying for final exams and start to write the eleventh chapter! Sorry I've taken so long. I guess my Tintin fic has become my main priority. Remind me not to post hockey fanfictions on FP again. Apparently, I angered a Canadian after she/he read mine, despite plenty of warnings. Moron. Anyway, enjoy this short little chapter; I promise to have more up soon!

-mo

…

When the fourth straight day of rainstorms arrived, it didn't take long for the boys to figure that the rainy season had finally begun. What was once a tropical paradise (marred, of course, by deaths and fires and food shortages…) turned into a soggy, miserable, and chilly hell. As rain crashed down into the jungle, mud would run in thick rivulets to the already soaked beach, carrying away the rich, dark soil. The sky, once a brilliant, azure blue, was masked by unheeding, gray clouds, revealing not even the slightest glimpse of what they hid. Even at night the rain would continue to fall, a steady drumming on the thatched roofs of the huts, a _splat-splat-splat _on the exposed granite. Cases of hypothermia and fevers ran rampant through the boys, only adding to the level of misery they endured.

Meanwhile, the only absence that had been noticed was that of Roger. And Jack, having come _this _far with his tribe, was not about to give up on anything. The chief was far from being happy.

"Three whole days, Ralph," Jack grumbled, as the two of them sat cross-legged in the shelter of their cave. "Three days, he's been missing."

"Isn't that a good thing?"

The chief squinted outside, watching the raindrops strike the pink outcrops of rock, then bounce off at random angles. "I'm not sure," he responded truthfully. "It makes me think -- what if he's dead, and all of those killings weren't his fault? What if we were wrong, and it really was the…" Jack's voice trailed off, and was drowned in the sudden _boom_ of thunder.

"The beast?" Ralph asked. "It doesn't exist! We've been _every_where on this stupid island! There's no such thing!"

"Still, you've got to wonder."

"If there _is _a beast, it's Roger. And he's been gone for some time now."

The chief scratched his chin. "I wonder where he's gone to."

"I, for one, hope he got washed out to sea," Ralph muttered, picking up a smooth, black pebble and tossing it from hand to hand. "Then we wouldn't have to worry about him running around and killing people."

"Maybe…"

…

The day wore on, but it was hard to tell, for the sky remained the same gloomy gray the whole time. Boredom was mounting, but neither Jack nor Ralph wanted to step beyond the protection of their cave into the wet sogginess outside. The red-haired boy poked at his forearm with a small, sharpened twig until a trickle of blood began to run. Grimacing, he began poking himself, again, a few inches away from the initial wound.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Entertaining myself," he responded quickly, not looking up at Ralph. Instead, Jack continued to prod himself until another cut in his skin appeared. Ignoring the pain, he moved on up his arm.

"Stop it!" Ralph said, but made no move to halt the other boy's self-destruction.

"I have nothing better to do," Jack grumbled gloomily. "I'll stop if you have any better ideas."

Ralph raked his brain, searching it for a better activity than bleeding oneself to death. He came up with plenty of alternate ideas, but most of them were naughty, and he didn't want Jack to return to his silent, depressed state again. "We could take a walk," the fair-haired boy said at last.

Jack dropped the stick. "Are you batty?! In _this _weather? You wanna catch a fever?"

"Are you scared?"

"No!"

"Then come with me outside." That said, Ralph crawled out of the cave, wearing nothing but his tattered shorts. He winced as the cold rain struck his back, but like the waterfall many days before, it had a sort of cleansing, purifying effect. As expected, Jack soon followed, but he wrapped his arms around himself, shivering horribly. Ralph frowned, and put an arm around his chief. "Come on, Jack. Let's have a walk down the beach. It could be worse."

"Do tell."

"Umm…" An idea dawned on Ralph, and he was thankful, for once, that he had paid attention in his science class back home. "You know those big, pink rocks, Jack? It's _granite_. You know where granite's from? Volcanoes. Which means that this island is or used to be a volcano."

"Your point?"

"What if it were to erupt _right_ now? It'd be raining lava _and _raindrops. That's far worse than our situation right now."

Jack rolled his eyes and leaned in closer to the other boy. "Sucks to the volcano."

At that moment, however, things did erupt, but not in the form of molten rock. "Jack! Ralph! Hey, Jack!" A figure was running down the beach at full tilt, as fast as his legs could carry him. Ralph squinted through the rain and recognized the boy as Maurice, though he had no idea why he looked so panicked. A few seconds later, the boy had collapsed at the feet of Jack and Ralph, panting, trying to get his breath back. He spat, then said, "It's terrible! … Horrible!"

Ralph let go of Jack and knelt down beside the third boy. "What is?"

Maurice looked up, and for the first time, several bruises and gashes across his face could be seen. "Him! Roger! He tried to kill me, he…"

Jack's eyes narrowed as he, too, squatted down beside the injured boy. "What did he do?"

But Maurice couldn't answer. Instead, he bit his lower lip, trying to suppress his sobbing. Hugging his knees to his chest the boy began to shudder, and the rain picked up until it was falling so hard it was _painful_.

Ralph shot Jack a disturbed glance, then asked the crying boy, "Can you at least tell us where we can find him?"

"By the platform," Maurice whispered in between sobs. "He's over there, hiding out, he's…" He broke down into a fit of violent tears. "Kill him, stab him, do whatever you can to just get _rid _of him!"

…

The sharpened stick Jack held was like an old friend. He hadn't used one in a while, except to hunt, but as he grasped the spear tightly, the chief convinced himself that today was a good day to put the weapon to use. Ralph, too, carried a sharpened stick. The boy hadn't used one since the day he was being hunted by the tribe; as he toted the primitive weapon, he felt as if it were a ghost to haunt him. Ralph shuddered, but followed his chief as they slogged down the beach.

"We're not actually going to kill him, are we?" the older boy asked, gripping the spear so tightly his knuckles were turning white. "That would make us just as bad as him, you know."

"Did you _see _what he did to Maurice?" Jack hissed. He pushed his wet bangs from his forehead and scowled. "Roger didn't just try to kill him. He's scarred him for the rest of his life!"

"I don't understand…"

"Then maybe that's a good thing, Ralph." The two of them pushed on, the wet, gritty sand abrading against their bare feet. Jack winced, for he could feel his heels chafing, bleeding, the skin tearing. He pushed the notion of pain away and wondered to himself what it would be like if the grains of sand found their way into his bloodstream. "We are going to _kill _the bastard!"

Ralph frowned. That wild, primal look was returning to Jack's eyes. It was unfamiliar, at first, but soon the fair-haired boy remembered it all too well. With the memories came fear, and with fear came hate. Ralph denied it. He balled his fist until his nails dug into his flesh, trying to convince himself that Jack had changed, that he was no longer the savage that he had once been. Jack was _not _a murderer. Jack was _not_ a beast. Jack…

"Stop," Ralph said, taking the other boy by surprise. "Stop."

"What's wrong?!" Jack asked, his face hot with anger and his blue eyes wild with the anticipation of finding Roger. "Are you afraid? Overcome by your sense of morals? Do you _not care_?"

"No, it's just…" Ralph looked directly at Jack, his eyes boring through him. "Show me that you've changed. Show me that you aren't the savage that you used to be, Jack. Show me…" The older boy let his voice trail off as he dropped his spear into the sand. Quickly, showing no sign of fatigue, Ralph wrapped his arms around Jack -- feeling just how cold the other boy was -- and forced him into a kiss. It was chaste, not like the movie-star kisses that Ralph remembered seeing back home. Jack didn't respond, at first, most likely because he was so surprised. But slowly, after a moment's pause, he returned the kiss, wanting very much to deepen it into the kind that he had seen on the silver screen.

For that moment, it wasn't raining. For that moment, the sky above was blue and cloudless, and the air felt warm and balmy. For that moment, neither Jack nor Ralph were on the island; they were in London, on the stony path of a street corner, with no one else around for miles. There were the welcome fumes of car exhaust and the familiar sounds of faraway vehicles.

It lasted but a second, and as Ralph pulled himself away from Jack, he said hoarsely, "I knew you had changed."

Jack grinned. "Never want to let you down," he replied, and picked up his spear from the wet sand. A frown swiftly covered his features, and the boy added, "We've got to do this, Ralph. We might _all _end up dead if we don't."

"It doesn't sound like a half-bad idea," the older by mused, retrieving his spear.

…

Roger had been waiting for Jack and Ralph, ignoring the pounding of the chilly rain against his back. This kind of furious weather made the sadistic boy happy, although it was nothing compared to the joy he obtained from frightening and hurting the younger members of the tribe. He sat on a fallen palm tree trunk; its bark was damp and soggy from the constant rain they'd been receiving. Roger dug his toes into the sand and awaited the arrival of Jack and Ralph. When the time came, he'd be more than glad to show them the _true _meaning of pain. The other boys, whom Roger had slain, those were a mere _warning._ Nothing more.

And yet, besides his quest for something that could satisfy, Roger could not present himself with a reason for being so violently ruthless.

…

A/N: To be continued… You know more will be on the way! I plan to have this story be a maximum of twelve chapters, so by now you know things are starting to wind down. Until next time… Drop some reviews, and I'll see to it that the next chapter will be posted much quicker than this one was!

-mo


	11. Chapter Eleven

A/N: This is the _last _chapter! Following it up will be an epilogue, and then… sniffle … this story will be done! Anyway, this is a short bit, and enjoy it as much as you can. In reality, it probably should be combined with the last chapter, but that doesn't really matter.

Warnings: Nothing too objectionable.

…

Jack sighed miserably as he and Ralph neared the Platform. It brought back so many memories, he realized, as he squinted at it through the pouring rain. It was where the boys had first gathered many months earlier, when the weather was fair and tension on the island was low. It was where the tribe had held its structured meetings, with Ralph in the lead and Piggy contributing his wisdom to the decisions being made. The Platform was where they had passed the conch about, taking their turns and offering suggestions of how to go about being rescued. Since then, everything had been damned to hell, and the Platform had been abandoned, much like the boys' civilized way of life.

_It's was where we first met_, Jack thought to himself, _and it may as well be the last…_

"D'you have a plan?" Ralph asked, shouting over the boom of thunder.

Hesitantly, Jack shook his head. "Not at all." There was a pause, then he added quietly, "We're gonna die, Ralph."

"Don't be batty," the older boy shot back. "We'll work this out. Who knows, maybe Roger doesn't have to die. Maybe…"

Jack laughed, sounding strange in the situation. "You're putting off the inevitable, Ralph! He's as good as dead, and so are we. Maybe all three of us will die and then there won't be any complaining!" He shook his head, as if he was certain of what had to be done. "Don't argue. Look, there's the Platform, up ahead. We can't turn back now, and we sure as hell can't get by without any blood being spilled." He ran ahead, and Ralph, knowing that it was sheer suicide, followed.

…

"You were waiting for this, weren't you?" Jack shouted, his voice slicing through the rain. The air was chilly, and his hot breath formed a mist as he spoke. "In end, this is what it all _had_ to come down to!"

Roger grinned. It was a cruel, ruthless, _sick _smile, something that sent shivers waltzing down Ralph's spine. "You are so right, _Jack._"

"Go ahead, call me that. I'm not _your _chief anymore." He raised the spear, clutching it tightly. "You've killed four boys on this island and you've helped kill a fifth! You've raped one boy who's lived to tell of it, and you expect me to just _dismiss _that! You think I'll let you go ahead and murder Sam or Ralph or _me_?"

The savage rolled his dark eyes and picked up his own spear. "No. I figured you wouldn't. Not you, _Jack_. Not you and your _pet_ of a boyfriend."

Ralph pointed at himself. "_Me!_" he howled in anger. "I am no _pet_!"

"_That_, my friend, is the last straw!" Jack spat. "We don't have to put up with this, this _shit_." The chief prepared to hurl the sharpened stick. He had perfected his technique over the months, whether it had been hunting pigs or a certain boy that presently stood beside him. Ralph, too, had his spear raised, his strong arm cocked and ready to fire. "Roger, you bastard…"

The hangman sneered. "I always knew you'd do this, Jack. I knew you'd be a traitor in the end. That you'd team up with your pet and become obsessed with him. No matter how much you said you hated him, I could always tell that inside, you _wanted _him. More than you wanted to be with your tribe. And _now _look. Look at yourself. Preparing to chuck a spear at one of your former conspirators." Roger spat into the damp sand. "It's _disgusting_. Are you the type to change sides that quickly?"

Jack edged closer. "You'd know all about being a traitor, wouldn't you, Roger?"

There came no response, and instead, Roger threw the spear that he'd been clutching. It sliced through the air like a knife, but Jack had already ducked and had pulled down Ralph with him. Using his animalistic instincts he had learned while hunting, the chief jumped up to his full height and hurled his own spear. It sailed over Roger's head and tumbled over the edge of the platform, into the sand and rocks twenty feet below. The savage grinned wickedly. "You'd better work on your _aim_, Jack."

Ralph was torn over what to do. In his right hand he had his spear, ready to send flying toward Roger. He could end it, right then and there, he knew. With one toss, he could vanquish the boy who had ruined everything. He gripped the stick even tighter, the muscles in his hand starting to ache. He could imagine the weapon hurdling through the rain, striking the bare chest of Roger. He could see the blood, the pain, the suffering… The death. And he realized that it would make him no better than the boy that had killed so many people. Ralph dropped the spear; it fell into the sand noiselessly, and Jack stared at him, bewildered.

"You see that, Jack? Even your _pet_ won't fight! You're defenseless! You're weak! You've got no weapons!" Roger stooped to pick up a small, jagged chunk of granite. "Whose pitiful life should I end first? How about you, Ralph. I'll save the most satisfying for last!" He threw the stone, much like how a pitcher would throw a baseball. It careened through the air, and grazed past Ralph's arm, ripping some skin off with it.

The former chief cried out and fell to the ground, holding his upper arm in agony. Jack glanced down at Ralph as he writhed in the sand, then looked back to Roger. "You'll regret that!" He advanced on the savage, his fists raised, and Roger began to back away, a scowl masking his face. Behind Roger was the edge of the Platform, the edge where it dropped off twenty feet to the sand and rocks of the beach below. Roger didn't dare to stoop down and pick another stone up from the sand, not with Jack closing in on him. He decided he would stay and fight, hand-to-hand combat, like he had seen in all the movies back home. _Just take a few more steps backward, _the hangman thought to himself, and he did - then suddenly cried out and disappeared.

A split second later, there was a sickening _thwack _that sounded from twenty feet below.

Jack dropped his fists and noted a chunk of granite that was partially obscured by the sand, lying a foot away from the drop-off. He inched forward, then craned his neck over the edge of the Platform. "The fool tripped," the chief grumbled, having long-forgotten the torrents of rain that were cascading onto his back. He turned to Ralph. "Are you alright?"

The older boy nodded slowly, and climbed to his feet, still grasping his bloodied arm. "He… he _fell_?" Jack said nothing and pointed to the rocks twenty feet below. Joining the chief on the edge of the Platform, Ralph looked down, down… Amongst the boulders and palm trees lied Roger's crumpled body. The fair-haired boy tore his eyes away from the bloody scene and shuddered. "Maybe it served him right… To be killed by his own doing." Still shaken, he took a seat on the mossy trunk of a fallen palm. The rain had started to let up, and it turned into a normal, healthy rainstorm, the kind that the boys were used to in experiencing in London.

Jack took a seat beside Ralph. "We'd better put something on your arm."

"It's not as bad as it looks."

"Still, it must be painful."

"I can manage."

The chief sighed and let his gaze fall onto the sea. "What are we going to do now?"

Ralph shrugged and shook his head tiredly. "I don't know, I don't know…" He put his good arm around the red-haired boy, bringing him closer. "There's nothing to do now. There's no threats, no Roger, no danger… From here on out, it'll be… _bland_. There'll be no more adventures, Jack."

"It seems strange."

"A lot different than what we've been used to."

Jack's eyes didn't move from the whitecaps rolling across the ocean. "I don't want to be the chief anymore."

"Then don't be."

The younger boy turned to Ralph and smiled, slightly. "I'm not anymore."

"Good." Sighing, Ralph stared, transfixed to the angry sea. "I want to go home."

"Don't worry." Jack returned his eyes to the endless water and put his arm around the boy seated beside him. "You'll get back, somehow."

…

The End.

…

A/N: Not really the end - sit tight for the epilogue! But tell me what you're thinking, alright? Dare I whisper the word _sequel_? Thanks so much for reading this story, stay tuned for the very last bit where loose ends are tied and we see what happens to our boys on the island!

-mo


	12. Epilogue

A/N: This is the very last part of "You'll Get Back", folks. _The last part. _Enjoy it, please, and drop me some suggestions about... well, just read this first.

…

EPILOGUE

…

A stiff sea breeze pounded into Ralph's face, blowing his tangles of fair hair wildly about his head. The air tasted salty, but it seemed clean, too; not as humid and as heavy like he was used to. Keeping his hand on the railing, Ralph walked to the bow of the ship. The ocean was rough and angry; the waves appeared as if they were intent on sinking the vessel. The boy steadied has balance and sighed, pulling the wool blanket tightly around himself. There was a brief lull in the rainstorm, and for a cherished moment, the sky was a brilliant, bright blue, something Ralph had not witnessed in weeks.

But, ironically enough, it was the storm itself that had brought about the rescue. It had been the morning after Roger had died, and Ralph and Jack had been walking along the beach, in the blowing rain, reflecting on what had happened in the past half-year. It had been edging closer to noon, and both boys were tiring. Jack had suggested turning around, but Ralph, with a newfound sense of logic, had grown smarter since Piggy had died, and had decided that it would take less time if the two of them just kept walking. In short, they were to travel around the entire coastline of the island.

As the two boys had turned around a small, rocky peninsula of land, there it was: the end-all to their months and months of problems, their rescuer, their savior. It was a small, cargo-carrying ocean liner, its gray, steel hull something that, at first, neither boy had recognized. But slowly, it had come back to them, in distant, faded shapes and forms in their memories. The smokestack, the railing, the American flag, the portholes… And then, all of a sudden, both boys had cried at once, "Ship!"

That had been a day ago, and now, Ralph and Jack and all the rest of the boys were aboard a ship that was manned by American sailors, all of whom seemed very mystified by the idea of finding a group of kids stranded on an island. It hadn't been a search party that was sent to rescue the them. In fact, no one on board had known there had been a plane crash, an airplane carrying British schoolboys. The only reason the ship had weighed anchor in the sheltered cove of the island was because the storm had drove them there. The rationale for the sailors' arrival, however, didn't matter to Ralph. What was done was done, and at last, they were being taken away from the island.

Ralph leaned over the edge of the railing and took in a deep breath of the cool ocean air. He wasn't sure where they were headed; the sailors hadn't been very communicative with any of the boys, and seemed to be more bewildered and distressed than anything else. Many of the younger children were still in the medic's room, undergoing a series of tests to make sure they could be exposed to healthier individuals. Ralph looked over his shoulder, wondering where the devil Jack had gone to. The other boy had made himself scarce ever since they had started to sail away from the island. Ralph sighed again and turned quickly on his heel, deciding he would go in search for the red-haired boy.

The men on board the ship had been kind. The boys, all of whom had been reduced down to wearing tattered shorts during their lengthy stay on the island, had been given new clothes. They were oversized, and Ralph was having a hard time running in pants that were several sizes too large for him. His bare feet thumped across the hard, steel plates of the deck, and up ahead there was an open door. Ralph slowed down, and paused outside of the cabin. There were men talking, and the hushed conversation peaked the boy's interest.

"It's risky, you know, to dock at an American port," said a gruff voice, which Ralph recognized as belonging to the captain of the ship. "With the war that's been going on, Miami could be under attack any day now."

"But we _must _go to port, sir," another voice insisted. "We're running low on supplies and food, plus we've got all these kids on board."

"You're right, Johnson…" The captain's voice trailed off, then he added more gravely, "These boys come from London, or at least most of them do. One of the younger ones told the nurse he couldn't wait until he saw his parents again."

"Like that's ever gonna happen."

"Exactly. How can we tell them that London doesn't _exist _anymore? That was probably the reason why they were evacuated to get out of there before the nukes struck." He sighed, and in this pause, Ralph began to grow more irritated and worried. "They can't go back to London, or to Britain. Just a few A-bombs can really wipe out an entire island."

"The war _could _end any day now, sir."

The captain hesitated before replying, as if he was considering that the announcement of peace was a feasible answer. "That's true, but it'll be years before they can reconstruct Britain. _Years_."

Ralph bit his lip, trying very hard not to cry. He had survived through many things while living on the island amongst a tribe of savages. He had walked out of a plane crash, unscathed. He had managed to escape death, in several instances, whether it was from a fire or from Jack. He had witnessed the murder of young children many times over. He had managed to live off of eating nothing but unripe fruit and undercooked pork; he had managed to dwell in a cold, damp cave while rain fell night and day. But Ralph could not handle _this._

Suppressing a wail, he dashed on, in search of Jack. It didn't take him very long to find the red-haired boy. Jack was leaning over the railing near the tail end of the ship, finding great fascination in the angry waves that slapped the metal hull of the vessel. He heard Ralph coming, and turned to him, a smile brightening his features. "Hey," Jack said.

"Hey," Ralph replied. He didn't know what else he could say. Somewhere else on the ship, the littluns were playing; he could hear their yells and screams of delight. They were probably chasing something or someone, oblivious to the fact that they would never return home, Ralph thought glumly.

Jack gave Ralph a confused look, breathed in the clean ocean air, and said, "I can't wait until we get home."

"We won't," Ralph grumbled, although he hadn't meant to say it so blatantly. "I mean… Jack…"

"What do you mean we won't go home?" the other boy asked, crossing his arms and frowning worriedly.

Ralph shook his head. "We won't be going home. I… I was walking past a cabin, and there was a man talking to the captain, and…" He couldn't finish his sentence. Ralph began to sob, crumpling to the deck and making no attempt to get back up. His body shivered with tears, until he finally cried, "London's been _bombed_, Jack! You remember, that's why we _left _in the first place. No one's alive. They said that there's nothing left of it."

"_What_!" Jack sank to the floor beside Ralph, and stared directly at the other boy. "_Bombed_!"

"There's a big war going on, Jack. London got… _nuked_ right after we left." Ralph shook his head sadly, the tears forming dirty streaks down his face. "We _can't _go back, and we _won't _go back. We're sailing to Miami."

"America?" Jack shuddered, beginning to cry. At first, it was only sniffling, but it turned to sobbing, something that Ralph had never seen before, not in all the time they had been stranded on the island. The older boy took Jack in his arms, and together, both boys cried, their tears contrasting violently to the sound of young children playing.

…

The ship steamed on, gliding across the ocean, and the sun was beginning to set. The sky, as wide and as infinite as the sea, turned a golden orange, and faraway clouds began to darken to a deep, rich, purple. Soon, night would spread its giant sheet across the sky, and points of light would shine through, innocent, forever a beacon. And as they sobbed, Jack and Ralph could only wonder…

…

END

…

Alright, end! I'd like to thank ALL of my readers and reviewers. You guys are the best. You've helped me through the _first_ quality fanfiction that I've actually _finished_. All the feedback, all the compliments... it's been so great and I thank you. Second, I am thinking of writing a sequel to this because a lot of you seem to be really pointing me in that direction. And, of course, because I want to. (That's the one thing that I don't like about _The Lord of the Flies _book. Too many lose ends when the story is finished.) So, anyways, if you have any ideas about what should be in the sequel, from relationships to a plot to a _title_, it would be welcomed. And I thank you again.

-mo


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